


Will of the Force

by The_Force_Guard



Series: Will of the Force [1]
Category: Original Work, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Adventure, Blaster Combat, Clone Wars, Clones, Combat, Drama, Droids, Drug Manufacture, Ethics, Galactic Republic, Galactic politics, Gen, Great Jedi Purge, Horror, Indentured Servitude, Jedi, Lightsaber, Lightsaber Combat, Living Force, Morality, Order 66, Original Characters - Freeform, Padawan, Sentient Lifeforms, Slavery, Survival, Synthetic Spice, The Force, Thriller, Trauma, Unifying Force, blasters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Force_Guard/pseuds/The_Force_Guard
Summary: A tentative Padawan Learner and his experienced Jedi Master embark on a covert mission to the borders of Hutt Space during the final days of the Clone Wars. Alongside the execution of Order 66, the isolated Jedi Youngling is forced into domestic servitude by a cruel Baroness.
Relationships: Baroness Lenāla & 501-Z3L 'Zel', Baroness Lenāla & Skoan, CT Sergeant Helm & CT Pilot Forge, CT Sergeant Helm & Jedi Master Shonn Li, Labo & Molina, Labo & Vekq, Padawan Jerron Kyne & All Characters
Series: Will of the Force [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102181
Kudos: 2





	1. Resilience

**Author's Note:**

> Special Thanks to Emily Burnett (Beta Reader), Micharl Görl (Beta Reader) and Michael Abhikair (Editor). Star Wars, 'Will of the Force' - Part 1 (OC Fanfiction) was written by the author in order to explore the platonic relationship between Original Character, Padawan Jerron Kyne and Original Character, Jedi Master Shonn Li during their time as practicing Jedi before Order 66 (19BBY). The story that follows has been inspired by this preliminary concept and has since evolved into a overarcing tale documenting the life and times of Jerron Kyne during the rise of the Galactic Empire. Star Wars, 'Will of the Force' - Part 1 & 2 (OC Fanfiction) details the base setting for further storytelling set within the established world of Star Wars (Canon) & Star Wars (Legends). This non-profit work is dedicated to all Star Wars Fans, George Lucas, Dave Filoni, John Favreau, Star Wars Theory & Geetslys.

On the starlit horizon bloomed half a dozen nebula in patterns of fractal crimson waves and spiralling arcs of vibrant colour. The ever-changing view from the cockpit of the Resilience was painted with the far-away subjects of space that illuminated its position and surroundings. Glinting pinpricks of light glimmered in the distance which shone out from light-years away, but all around the ship was the cold and seemingly empty vacuum of space that stretched far, far beyond. The hum of the recently fired hyperdrive died down within the cabin walls as the feeling of unsettling, incomparable motion released its grip on the bodies of the crew. Hyperspace always seemed to impart a sense of subtle discomfort no matter how familiar the traveller was with the nearly instantaneous method of conveyance, and the crew of the GR-75 medium transport were no exception. The Republic vessel now surged onward, leaving the entrancing tunnel of light behind as it neared the fast approaching borders of Hutt Space, where it sighted the telltale surrounding constellations of the Gamor Run Hyperspace route leading on through the Outer Rim.

"All crew, prepare for the next jump to hyperspace. We are on the final leg of our journey and will arrive at Nar Shaddaa shortly. Forge, out."

The solemn voice of the clone trooper pilot carried through the multiple commlinks of the craft, echoing with electric timbre. His alert reached every room within the small cargo transport and compelled the crew to ready themselves in preparation for the mission ahead. Already briefed in full, the small outfit of clones onboard consisted of Sergeant 'Helm', his second in command Corporal 'Marks', and Privates CT-8943 and CT-8944, along with the pilot, simply known as 'Forge'. At the reception of this notice, each of the soldiers set about finalizing their tasks and readying their appointments. Some reassembled their standard-issue blaster carbines now polished and cleaned, while others finished their re-hydrated meals and gulped down their fluids before donning helmets and sounding off. As they emerged from various sections within the ship, they chatted among themselves through the inbuilt comms in their helmets. The clones joked, laughed and enjoyed the sociable familiarity of their near-identical brothers in arms. Though, once they reached the bridge of the ship, and despite their informal conversation, the soldiers shifted into perfectly uniform ranks under the watchful eye of their sergeant.

Standing at attention and raising their right arm in a precision salute, from private to corporal, one by one the clone troopers reported in.

The leader of the squad had not yet donned his shiny, green-striped helmet. Taking a measured moment, he paced before the troops with a stern gaze, eyeing over the few soldiers under his command. Sergeant Helm paused at the short stairwell to the cockpit and let out a long, slow sigh. A small rag-tag squad such as this was unorthodox, especially as some of the clones had never served with one another before. He couldn't help but quell a slight sense of uncertainty within himself, which he was only too sure was shared by the men. Their operation was an unusual one, its objective unconventional and somewhat disappointing to the group of soldiers of the Grand Army of the Republic who found themselves onboard the particular GR-75. Some of the more inexperienced clones couldn't help but wonder if they had done something to warrant punishment in receiving a mission into the far reaches of space and away from the front lines of the raging galactic war. Away from the action. Away from their brothers. Around them, the various onboard navigation computers, star-map units and life support systems buzzed with a constant series of quiet background beeps, whirs and rhythms. GR-75 medium transports, otherwise known as Gallofrees, were a far cry from the giant, labyrinthine warships which the clones were accustomed to station on. Newly developed vessels from a freshly founded shipwright company, the GR-75s were not directly affiliated with the Republic, nor under its control, and these first examples were reserved for simple matters of transport, cargo and storage. They were bulky and slow, with only the bare minimum of offensive weapons in the form of forward-facing laser cannons. However, they did offer quality shielding and a durasteel hull, which meant the vessel could hold its own against a potential, if not rare, dogfight among the stars. Though not the most envied of ships, nor the most reputable, just like the odd squad of clone troopers, the Resilience had a job to do and a duty to fulfil. Sergeant Helm took a breath and cleared his throat.

"Listen up, men. I know this wasn't what you had in mind when you were selected for a covert mission. To tell you the truth, it wasn't what I'd imagined either." A slight chuckle reverberated from one or two of the helmets and the Sergeant grinned. "But we've got a mission to complete. The sooner we get to Nar Shaddaa, the sooner we can complete the pickup, and I assure you, we'll be back to fighting the real battles soon enough." His voice echoed with a firm purpose. Sergeant Helm always had a knack for improvised, yet rousing speeches.

"Sir, yes, sir!" came the unanimous reply, including the broadcast voice of pilot Forge through the commlink.

Suddenly a gruff and sultry tone issued through the doorway and into the tight hallway of the bridge. "Glad to see you're inspiring the men, Sergeant."

Helm turned, quickly completing the issue of his uniform with the adoption of his helmet, and offered a sincere salute as his troops all did the same. "Jedi Commander Shonn Li, sir!"

A silhouetted figure strode out onto the gangplank of the bridge, chuckling softly before stepping into the light. It was a mature human with dark umber skin and round, handsome features who wore the unmistakable flowing robes of a Jedi Master, complete with toolbelt and the attached sidearm of a lightsaber hilt. His wizened face was marred with the telltale signs of age, yet his expression was kind and he spoke with careful, considered words. "At ease, soldier," he said, much to the relief of the sergeant. "Now, I know this isn't the sort of operation you're used to and I don't blame you for any reservations you may hold. In fact, I elected to complete this mission alone, as would be the norm." There was a subtle, uncomfortable shift from one of the clones in the line-up. "Alas," he paused. "That was not the will of the Jedi Council." Master Shonn Li casually strode along the walkway with his hands held calmly behind his back as he spoke. He sauntered up the step and stood next to Sergeant Helm, where he pivoted and faced the rest of the squad. "Were it up to me, I'd already be in the S'ol'oli Cantina up to my neck in Juma Juice and you'd already be celebrating a victory over a battalion of dead battle droids!" The clone troopers let out a mild, but genuine cheer. Shonn Li grinned and chuckled once more before addressing the Sergeant. "Glad we see eye to eye," he mused softly, sharing a simple nod of understanding with the soldier in command.

The mission was simple. By order of the Jedi Council of First Knowledge, the small clone squadron, with troopers of varying combat experience, were to accompany Jedi Master Shonn Li and his young apprentice, Padawan Jerron Kyne, on a covert mission to the thriving underworld of one the most notorious trading capitals in Hutt Space. There, among the towering industrial steam vents, expansive neon platforms and imposing apartment citadels of Nar Shaddaa, the Jedi were to meet with an established contact in order to survey and possibly retrieve a shipment of precious cargo detailed as of special interest to the Council. Sergeant Helm had never served under Master Li before and nor had he met his Padawan, the quiet, and supposedly absent, Jerron Kyne. These Jedi who embodied roles of study at their temples were a far cry from the bold, battle-hardened generals that Helm was attuned to, and despite their sensible, pleasant demeanour, he was unsure of their true ability beyond the mission's brief. Supplied only with the information that the pickup on Nar Shaddaa was considered extremely valuable, Sergeant Helm knew better than to enquire about further details of an assignment that was already on a need-to-know basis. Despite his reservations, Helm was resolved to ensure the success of the mission, though he couldn't help but nurse a small disappointment in its forecast lack of danger. Having served under many Jedi Knights and revered Clone Trooper Commanders, Sergeant Helm had fought in several notable skirmishes, including the First Battle of Geonosis in 22BBY, where he had suffered wounds in the seemingly endless barrage of the separatist droid army. Even in the near-impossible conditions of the dustbowl assault upon that sun-scorched world, Helm performed honourably, demonstrating complete obedience and resolute action without question. It was this discipline which had saved him from a fate akin to the countless deaths of his clone trooper brothers who died on that fateful day. Only he, Corporal Marks and Forge, the pilot of their LAAT/i Gunship, had survived, while the others of their squadron fell to the blitz of laser fire that tore their ship to pieces.

Having endured with minor to major injuries, the three clones were transferred to Coruscant, the capital of the Galactic Republic, where they were promptly treated and returned to active duty upon recovery. Yet, through all his service, the many dogfights, naval assaults and engagements fought in pure pitched combat, Sergeant Helm had never been allocated to a mission such as this. Now, as he walked toward the copilot seat of the Resilience to sit beside his closest soldiers, he couldn't help but feel a combination of doubt and pride mingle within him as he prepared himself for the command of the assignment ahead.

A slight crackle sounded throughout the intercom of the ship as the pilot began communications. "Attention, all crew of the Resilience. We are now re-entering hyperspace. Brace yourselves for launch." As the official broadcast ended, the clone pilot turned to the Jedi Master who stood beside him, staring pensively out of the cockpit, surverying the burgeoning celestial bodies which unveiled themselves in the endless vista before the ship. "We're right on schedule, Master Li," Forge informed him.

Shonn stirred as if lightly startled from deep concentration. "Good work. At this rate we'll be early enough to avoid any unwelcome surprises." The Jedi cleared his throat and gently swept his robes around him, gathering them to his body. As he spun about, Master Li placed his hand momentarily on the pilot's shoulder in friendly recognition before ducking to make his way out of the cockpit towards the bridge.

Forge grinned. He was all too happy to accept commendation for his skills, even for performing such a simple and elementary courier flight such as this.

The pilot realigned his course, manually steered the ship into position and prepared for his next manoeuvre. He tightened his grip upon the hyperdrive accelerator, simultaneously flicking several switches, plugging in codes and pressing a button on the ship's controls before firmly lowering the handle forward. In an instant, the familiar bright flashes of saturated blue leapt at the glass of the cockpit and crept toward the nose of the vessel as the hyperdrive was engaged. Light itself appeared to stretch into the infinite distance as the Resilience was instantaneously transported at unfathomable speed on its way across the stars. A slight lurch of inertia echoed throughout the body of the ship in immediate synchronicity with the presence of entrancing blue that surrounded the Gallofree in its usual hypnotic pattern. The crew each felt the uncomfortable, nauseating sensation of their internal organs shuddering as the ship commenced its launch. Forge laughed and revelled in the unpleasant impact that resonated in his chest. "Ah, I love that feeling!"

The sergeant shook his head. "Of course you do, Forge," he muttered with bemused inflection.

Jedi Master Shonn Li strode through the wide hallways of the vessel. He walked leisurely but with purpose beyond the passages leading from the bridge to the mess hall and down into the cargo bay area, passing by each door as he went. The ship was homely despite its recent manufacture, and the design was simple, appropriate and cozy. A constant hum reverberated through the many internal and structural walls of the ship, which housed its several operating systems and also provided ample space for roomy alcoves. Pacing through the many corridors Shonn Li found himself lost in thought as he so often was. Playing on this mind was the arranged meeting with his old friend, Arik Mor, the Gran merchant of special goods with whom he'd enjoyed a long and amicable relationship. If the smooth-talking salesman's boasts proved to be true, Master Li could very well soon be in possession of yet another historic Jedi relic to add to the expanding collection housed under his curation at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.

He wondered what kind of deals his long time colleague would attempt to fabricate this time. During their last encounter, the jolly, overly touchy, yellow-skinned humanoid had tried to bargain Shonn's lightsaber as part of an exchange for a small collection of preserved Jedi Padawan robes discovered on the planet Takodana, a find almost certainly dating back to ancient battles fought nearly a millennium ago. Master Li laughed aloud as he reminisced about the indignant grunting the Gran made when he had stoutly vocalized the one word all merchants feared, 'No'. He wondered what his apprentice might make of the flamboyant and aloof peer whom he had known for decades. He wondered if Arik Mor might attempt to befriend Jerron, as he had. His Padawan was not the most charismatic of pupils that he had instructed, but what Jerron lacked in extroversion, the boy made up for in intelligence. He was smart, learned and strategic, with a distinct knack for problem-solving, and these skills, plus the stern guidance of Master Li himself, would surely yield a promising role for Jerron in the curation of the Jedi Temple's museum.

Shonn Li smiled and his pace quickened along with his thoughts as brief memories flashed across his mind concerning the official apprenticeship of his new Padawan. He saw in his mind's eye the small, slightly scrawny youngling fawning over dusty display cases containing ancient vibroswords and protosaber antiques kept in the far corners of the temple's collection. He thought back to the many conversations they had shared about classical myths and legends of the Force which had inspired long hours of discussion and debate between them. Finally, Master Li remembered the particular skills which Jerron had portrayed during his participation in the previous year's Jedi Apprentice Tournament of 20BBY. A public display of Force abilities, the overcoming of set challenges and the fan-favourite of lightsaber duelling, the apprentice tournament was a traditional rite of passage for aspiring Padawans to prove their worth to the Jedi Order in the hopes of approach from a Master for tutelage. It was in that competition that Shonn had sought out not the strongest competitor, nor the obvious champion of the bouts, nor the student who portrayed the greatest degree of potential in their fledgling Force powers. Rather, the old Jedi Master had gone in search of a youngling who demonstrated a subtle, quiet and yet deep connection to the Force. He attended in the hopes of finding a student who displayed patience and thoughtfulness, with an inherent trust in the Force's principal animations. He had found that hope in Jerron Kyne. The 13-year-old was a human boy from the Outer Rim, with tanned olive skin and muddy brown eyes. He was slim, short, and had an unremarkable appearance with few notable or discerning features, boasting no obvious advantages or natural talents. Jerron even had an apparent avoidance of igniting his lightsaber, making him less the prime candidate for most Jedi Masters attending the tournament that day. Yet Master Shonn Li could not deny the profound and immutable sense that his path was entwined with that of the youngling, and shortly after the competition's conclusion, so commenced the apprenticeship of his new Padawan. As the strolling Jedi had now begun to approach the quarters on the far end of the ship which he and his pupil shared, he could already sense the rippling, unwinding energy of the Force which rolled and melded within the room nearby. He could feel its familiar oscillation of power, which formed words in his thoughts, feelings in his spirit and images that flashed within his mind. Master Li quietly approached the door, signalled for it to open and stepped inside.

Seated upon the cold metal floor of their shared room onboard the Resilience, Padawan Jerron Kyne held his hands outstretched from his body. His eyes were closed, his head bowed and his open palms were moving gently in place amid a glowing wash of flickering blue light. Hovering in the air within arms reach of Jerron was a floating, rotating alloy cube. It slowly spun in place, suspended by the machinations of the Force as the walls of the cuboid shape clicked in and out. Its corners revolved and a brilliant, bright hue issued from inside its structure.

Master Li waved his hand over the control panel behind him and the door closed with a gentle pressurized hum. He could sense an ambient wealth of feelings which softly coalesced around the seated figure before him, whose meditation was allowing him access to the Jedi Holocron that levitated in the room. Padawan Jerron Kyne was deep in a state of trance, examining the library of knowledge and wisdom housed in the sacred Jedi artifact.

Master Li closed his eyes, gently raised his hand and reached out with the Force. After a brief moment, he blinked, sighed and spoke aloud. "You're feeling frustrated, my Padawan." His voice was calm with a low tonality.

Jerron opened his eyes and lowered his arms, the blue fading as the mechanisms of the Holocron snapped back into solid form and the shape descended lightly to the floor. "I am trying, Master. This one is different from the others. It feels older somehow, as though it's not as clear," said the boy. He glanced up at Master Li with a blank expression on his face. Jerron very rarely showed outward emotion and to the untrained eye his behaviour might have seemed direct, but Shonn Li knew his pupil well.

The Jedi Master drew his robes behind him as he swiftly lowered himself to his knees, sitting directly opposite his Padawan. "You compare your difficulty with this Holocron to those which you have already studied and you think them less unique because of it. This is not the case, Jerron." His student straightened up a little and Jerron's eyes slightly widened, as was the case when he chose to truly listen. Master Li spoke again. "Your task in deciphering this knowledge is difficult because you are making it so. Do not think of the Holocrons you have opened before. Do not think of the age, nor the clarity of the information in this relic. Let go of everything beyond you and this moment." Jerron took a deep breath in through his nose. He began to concentrate, his hands rising in his lap and falling as he exhaled slowly from his mouth. Shonn Li addressed the boy a final time. "Reach out with the Force and let go."

His master's words held wisdom, as always. The Padawan drew strength from the given advice. He resumed his focus and returned to the previous position, raising his hands and bowing his head. The cube on the floor lit up and tilted onto one corner before rising into the centre of the space as its parts began to shift and slide once again. Master Li joined his student in purposed meditation. He let his own thoughts, feelings and senses wash over him until they dissipated entirely. The two Jedi, Master and Padawan, eased into the familiar sense of the Living Force which surrounded and bonded them both. As Jerron tethered his psyche to the activating Holocron, Shonn Li steadied his observations on the student's mind. He sensed the boy relax his discouragement and breathe through the immediate memories of his recent experience. A silent smile crept into the corners of the Jedi Master's mouth.

The glinting blue light of the floating cube flashed over the room, but neither party noticed as the secrets of the artifact had already begun to reveal themselves in the form of ambient sounds, sudden bursts of transient emotion and disembodied voices. Strange otherworldly dialects and foreign languages echoed amid the billowing power of the Force which unlocked the Jedi Holocron in majestic sequence. "I can hear them!" Jerron spoke, excitedly. "There are many voices, but I don't know what they're saying, not yet."

The many sounds poured from the device suspended between them as the two Jedi held their concentration. After a moment, they opened their eyes in conjunction as the cuboid slowly began to stop spinning. Its walls retracted and the corners wound themselves back into place. "You did well," said Master Li. The artifact reformed and was lowered to the ground as Jerron lay his hands in his lap. "The history hidden in this old Holocron is not easily interpreted. Now that you have opened it, you need to decrypt the information provided to you, for it is specific to your learning, my young Padawan." The Jedi grinned and looked upon his student. Jerron's face had not changed since their last conversation, but Shonn could sense the small feelings of relief, pride and appreciation in the boy.

"Thank you, Master," came the genuine reply.

Shonn Li got to his feet and glanced over the room. It was small, meagre but comfortable, and similar in design to the quarters occupied by younglings at the Jedi Temple. His gaze followed the lockers against the wall, over the minimalist table and chairs, and finally over to the small shelf beneath the bed in which his Padawan kept a few appointed belongings. A crease of solemnity brushed over Master Li's forehead and settled in his brow. As he got to his feet and retrieved the Jedi Holocron, Jerron Kyne could sense the words being spoken before they were heard. "It is time for instruction with your lightsaber."

The young, studious and quiet boy let out an audible groan.


	2. Safeguard

Jerron was rarely in the mood for practice with his specialized weapon. Contrary to most Padawans he found it difficult to enjoy his daily lessons in the martial arts of the notorious symbol of the Jedi, his bold and brilliant lightsaber. Though he showed promise in the swift learning of the theory of combat techniques and displayed a keen understanding of the saber's inner workings, his proficiency with the blade itself was mediocre at best. It was not for lack of trying, but Jerron knew that his strengths as a Padawan Learner lay elsewhere. In most scenarios of sparring or simulated combat, he was prone to relying heavily on the Force to guide his actions, and very rarely resorted to using his saber in traditional means. When the need did arise to ignite his blade Jerron often felt his movements were reactionary and hollow, his footwork rigid and limiting, and his trust in the weapon that defined his role as a Jedi was severely lacking. Master Li knew his apprentice's shortcomings all too well. He had made it quite clear to the Padawan that without proper discipline over the lightsaber Jerron would never reach his full potential. "True strength does not lie in the raw talent you possess," he had once said. "You must learn to refine your weakness until it becomes the source of your strength." But despite his regular practice, the Padawan rarely improved in skill. Unlike most areas of difficulty in study for Jerron in which he would become determined and resolute to succeed, the matter of his learning with a lightsaber only ever seemed to discourage and disappoint him.

Shonn Li stood in the centre of the Jedi quarters and held out his arm, tilting a hand towards his Padawan's weapon on the shelf. In an instant, the hilt of the lightsaber shifted from its position and swiftly flew into his grasp by exercise of the Force. Master Li held out the handle for Jerron and an expectant look formed on his face.

Taking the hilt from his mentor, the young Jedi-in-training felt a cold sense of unease ripple over him. As Shonn turned to leave Jerron spoke softly. "Master?" Li paused and turned back to face his pupil. "I was hoping I could just practice my Shii Cho patterns. I'm don't think I'm rea-"

"No," came the tough interruption. A frown now brewed on the edges of Shonn's wrinkled face.

Jerron started again, "But, Master I ca-"

"No." The sombre Jedi Master crossed his arms and stared down at the boy. "I'm not having this conversation with you again. You will take your new instruction in my preference of lightsaber Form V, Shien." His words were firm and unyielding.

The Padawan looked away awkwardly as the expression on his face betrayed his inner thoughts. Tension settled in the space between them. After a long pause, Jerron spoke a final time. "I don't want to."

Jedi Master Shonn Li let out a deep sigh. He paused, cleared his throat then patiently addressed his apprentice. "Most Padawans your age show considerable prowess in Forms I through III and in the specialized form of their Master. You cannot simply choose not to progress with your study."

Jerron felt a small rise of frustration in his chest. "But that's not true! Master Fisto only uses Shii Cho and he's one of the best duelists in the Jedi order."

Amused, Shonn Li brushed the comment aside. "Master Fisto is well versed in all seven forms and could best me in any of them with his eyes closed, my very young Padawan."

Ignoring his master, Jerron Kyne shuffled nervously to the shelf by his bed and set down both the inactive Holocron and his lightsaber in place on the mantle. "I'm not feeling well, Master. I'm going to meditate."

"No, you are not. You are going to join me in the cargo bay and proceed with your training." Shonn Li's tone was becoming more and more stern.

"I can't," came the quiet retort.

"Why not?"

Jerron continued fiddling with his effects on the shelf. The quaint quill and brush set for Aurebesh calligraphy and the small Shaak-skinned journal served as a distraction from the conversation.

"Answer me, Jerron." Master Li's words were laden with austerity. "Why can't you continue your training?"

"Because I'm afraid," he blurted out with painful honesty. Jerron's cheeks flushed. He fought back the sting of shame which rose up inside him. Silence fell, but for the regular ambient sounds of the ship.

"I know." Master Shonn Li gently addressed his student, taking care to respect the rare display of emotion from his young apprentice. "I sense your fear, my Padawan. You treat your own lightsaber, a weapon designed to serve the will of the Force, as a burden. You burden yourself with this honour, with this duty, and you fear it." The words of his master stung with bitter truth. As he spoke, the Jedi took several steps toward his pupil. "And if you let it, that fear will grow inside you until can no longer be a Jedi. So I will ask you this only once, Jerron Kyne." The boy turned about and looked up at his mentor with honest eyes. "Will you let your fear of that weapon become your burden?" Shonn Li's gaze burned with a sincere intensity which Jerron could not ignore.

The Padawan felt the feelings of discomfort subside and he glanced at the lightsaber hilt protruding from the mantle. Leaning down, he picked it up and mustered his courage. The eyes of the two Jedi met, Master and Apprentice, as Jerron looked up to face his wise teacher. "No, Master. I will not."

A warm, encouraging and heartfelt smile broke out over the old Jedi's face. "And that is why you are my Padawan." The boy smiled and bowed his head. "Come, we both have much to learn."

Shonn leaned toward the doorway of the Jedi's humble quarters, and Jerron walked forward in his stride. As Master Li signalled for the door to open, a sudden wave of intense inertia rocked the frame of the Resilience and caused the Jedi to stagger backward, then side to side in unison. A rattling blast of energy clattered throughout the ship accompanied by the sounds of releasing air pressure and a few blinking lights.

The unexpected feeling of queasiness from the instant drop out of hyperspace pulsed within the Padawan amid feelings of abrupt uncertainty. Jerron studied his master's face searching for a sign of assurance.

Shonn Li frowned. "Something is wrong," he said. A sense of subtle disturbance began to fill the Jedi Master's mind. Why had the Republic Gallofree suddenly ceased its leap? They surely hadn't reached the coordinates to Nar Shaddaa as no respectable pilot would consider that a smooth arrival. Something was amiss. The Jedi went to reach for the door control once more, ready to run to the cockpit and investigate, but another feeling prevented his outreach a second time. Doubt, fear. Within the cold and bright metal hallways of the GR-75, Shonn Li could sense the elusive suppression of whispered intent. The Jedi Master closed his eyes and quieted his thoughts. He strayed from the feeling that gripped at his spirit with an icy grasp and respired his emotions.

Jerron Kyne, still watching his master's expression, saw the old Jedi Consular raise an arm and lay his outstretched palm against the smooth surface of the door to their cabin. An eerie, incomparable silence fell upon the room.

Master Li could feel the body of the vessel beneath his fingertips. It hummed and vibrated under his touch. The haptic feedback of its various systems gave way to a wealth of sensory stimulation from the re-cyclical air vents, the numerous wires of computer modules and the condensed carbon plumbing, and then further on to the ship's inhabitants. He sensed his own body, warm and especial, and that of his apprentice, who he saw in his mind's eye stood just beside him. He sensed their quarters, the thronging Force of the inactive Holocron, and the unique essence of the Khyber crystals which powered their lightsabers. Finally, Master Li sensed the occurrences afar of the space in which he stood, peering past the solid metal sheet walls and many compartments of the GR-75. But his perception in this energetic vision was blurry. Despite his acquired talents and specialised training in the heightening of his senses through the Living Force, Shonn Li could not discern any comprehension beyond the Jedi's room. It was as though a shadow had been cast over his sight, an impenetrable fog which clouded the view. He opened his eyes as the hesitation in his feelings turned to tenuous dread and he met the gaze of his apprentice.

"Master?"

Li quickly held up a finger to quiet his Padawan as his ear twitched to the sound of approaching footsteps. His eyes widened. In a flash, the door to their quarters was raised as the Jedi Master brought down his arm and extended his reach with the Force, summoning the distinctive hilt of his lightsaber into hand. A burst of blinding blue ion-filled gas blasts scattered throughout the open doorway to the cabin. Jerron froze in place, barely recognizing the unfolding events.

Master Shonn Li ignited his blade. A thrumming, glowing shade of potent green flashed into the room as he leaned forward and his feet turned outward into an immediate defensive pose. The Jedi deflected the blaster bolts, the tip of his saber ricocheting one shot into the ceiling and another past the threshold of the room. All remaining blasts missed their targets but for one, which lightly grazed the right soft shoulder padding of Jerron's Padawan robe as he staggered back. Master Li grunted with shock and determination, pushing himself past his apprentice and into the doorway. There, he slid his left foot forward, bending his knees low and tilting the lightsaber diagonal in front of his body, holding the humming, shining weapon with a practiced two-handed grip. Before him stood three Republic clone troopers, vapour still emitting from their freshly discharged blaster carbines. In an instant, the soldiers released another round of bolts as they fanned out, one strafing right down the hallway to the cargo bay and another left toward the cockpit whilst still firing.

Jedi Master Li sprung into action. He swung his saber in an arc to the right, turning the handle behind his head and angling the trajectory of the blade. It caught the blasts in its swing as laser collided with light and one of the bolts from the right was redirected to the way it came. It struck the shooting Clone Trooper in the chest, piercing through armour and into his flesh. He let out an agonized scream and dropped to the floor.

Shonn continued his action, following the movement with a defensive parry in which he raised to his full height with a single step out of the room before dropping into a low, grounded stance and raising his arms again. Turning his fists toward the ground and holding the weapon upside down with its tip angled away from him, the Jedi leaned into the next barrage of blaster bolts from the two soldiers on his left. He could hear muffled yells from within their white plastoid alloy helmets as they let loose another deadly assault.

A spray of glaring blaster fire glanced off Master Li's blade. The ricocheting bolts darted about the tight hallway leaving black carbon scoring marks upon the walls and ceiling. Again, seemingly by chance this time, a stray shot redirected from the Jedi's saber and struck the clone trooper down the left hallway, who took the full blast directly in the hand which was supporting his rifle. His fingers, wrist and forearm were obliterated immediately. The clone trooper yelled in excruciating surprise and tripped backward, dropping his weapon to the floor as the shock of his injury left him slumped against the wall.

Before Shonn could react, a series of blistering hot stabs of pain riddled through his shoulder and down his chest, ribs and the muscles on the right side of his body. As his front foot had pivoted to follow up with a movement against the last soldier still standing in the narrow corridor, a volley of searing blue bolts struck him hard. The energy of the blaster fire sent him reeling in reverse and knocked him out of his defensive stance. As Master Shonn Li lurched rearward into the room, he twisted his left arm upwards and let loose the grip on his saber with his right. In an expert, swift and continuous motion, he swung his arm in an upward strike as he fell, the extra reach carving his lightsaber into the clone trooper pressed against the nearest wall outside the door. The scorching tip of the emerald green blade dragged across the body of the man, splitting him open and cauterizing all sides of the wound simultaneously. It slashed up his chest, through his neck and over his face, his shiny white armour useless against the immeasurably intense heat of the saber's light. The helmet of the Clone split in two from the direction of the slash and its pieces tumbled to the floor as both Jedi Master Li and the clone dropped from standing positions. A mangled, mutilated and horrible wound revealed from beneath the sundered armour and a grotesque gurgling issued from the corpse which sunk at an unnatural angle against the corner where the floor met the wall. Padawan Jerron Kyne let out a horrified scream.

Master Shonn fell onto his shoulders and side. His dark brown and blue Jedi Master robes still smoked from the barrage of blasts which had shot him point-blank.

"Master!" Jerron dropped to his knees, placing one hand beneath his master's neck and the other near his chest to assess the wounds. Li coughed and spluttered, groaning as his Padawan learner pulled open the angular cloth of his robed shoulder to discover a pattern of deep, dark grooves across his body. As the Force would have it, the blaster fire had not struck any major organs and most had harshly grazed the old man's shoulder and upper ribs. But Jerron could sense that without proper medical assistance he might still succumb to these wounds. Tears welled at the edges of the Padawan's eyes, his face grew pale and his fingers trembled with the terrified pounding of his heartbeat.

"Jerron, listen to me," came the gravelly voice of his master. Shonn drew one arm underneath himself and rolled into a sitting position as his Padawan stood, exhaling his shock and drawing the lightsaber hilt from where it hung at his side. It quietly shook in his hand. "We are betrayed. We need to send word to the Jedi Council immediately," said Master Li.

Jerron nodded, wide-eyed and with no words to speak.

A pained groan shuddered through the Jedi Master. He slowly, laboriously got to his feet and leaned heavily against the inner corner of the doorway. An eerie silence had befallen their immediate surroundings amid the dense smell of burnt metals and plastoids which permeated the hall. His breathing shallow, Shonn raggedly straightened his posture until the blinding pain in his side prevented any further movement. Gritting his teeth, the old Master slid the blue outer robe from his undertunic to reveal the extent of his wounds. He groaned and swore in Lasat, an act much unlike his person.

"What are we going to do?" uttered the hushed, quiet voice of Jerron Kyne.

Master Li's reply was breathy and quick. "The clone troopers onboard cannot be trusted. Perhaps they are imposters or, worse..." He groaned. "We are in grave danger, my Padawan. We must seek to escape immediately. I sense a darkness..." His eyes flickered with the hollow realisation of an unconscious foreboding.

"One, two, three. Only two remain, I think." Jerron's tone was cold and detached. His hand gripped at the hilt of his weapon at his side, but his face was formed in a dissociated stare of trepidation and hesitant transfixion on the horrid angle at which the nearest corpse lay.

Despite the wicked pain racking his senses, Shonn Li couldn't help feel a flash of admiration for his Padawan's mind. "Indeed, but the sergeant, Helm, is not among them."

Catching his thoughts, Jerron turned away from the grisly remains of the skirmish and began to breathe slowly. After a moment, the Pawadan Learner nodded.

Shonn's gruff voice issued again, louder and with vigour. "We must reach the cockpit and plot a course for Coruscant." He raised the hilt of his saber and steadied his breathing, a wince of pain settling over his features. Master Li pressed off the wall and leaned onto his feet with a tentative raise of posture.

The sullen and uncertain reply of, "Yes, Master," clung, nameless in the air.

In a sudden flit of brightened lights about the room and hall, including the bright red bursts of an urgent alarm, the Resilience was plunged into immediate and total darkness.

Pressed against the cold metal sheets of the threshold to the outer bridge of the GR-75, the clones lay in wait. Armed with fully charged DC-15S carbines and standard-issue shock grenades, Helm and Forge stood still amid the darkened ship. As the overhead lights had slowly dimmed before shutting off entirely, the CTs had formed a plan. The sergeant knew that the scant illumination of emergency lighting gave the troopers an advantage in their assault, and the pilot, holding several shock grenades, knew that minimal damage to the ship, but maximum pressure on the Jedi, was key to their success. A soft green flash blinked quietly in the near corner of the hall aside the doorway, which signalled the placement of a Grand Army of the Republic sergeant-issued sensor beacon which tracked the movements of the hallway to the augmented communications system of the clone troopers' helmets.

'MOVEMENT DETECTED,' came a sudden text alert on their screens. Sergeant Helm raised an arm, making his fist into a soundless order to his pilot. His fingers formed the signal for two moving targets before he pointed upward with his index and turned his fist to the side, opening his palm. The veteran then issued the second signed takedown order as the clones readied their rifles. Forge tapped two fingers inaudibly to his helmet in response.

Helm broke first, raising his weapon into a low guarded stance as he peeled into the corridor, hugging the wall with gentle footsteps. A distinct two metres behind, the pilot followed with precise movements. As they rounded the corner, the camera feed of the sensor beacon tracked their movements and lit them up in the live thermal video feed displayed in the corner of their interface. The two soldiers crept forward with their keen eyes trained down the sights of their armaments.

A sudden shower of sparks issued overhead as a lone alarm bulb in the corridor blew, sending fragments of glass and a spray of overloading electricity across the ceiling. Helm flinched, turning his rifle to the disturbance momentarily before resuming his advance.

At the far end of the hallway, a sudden shadow shifted in the darkness. The sergeant halted in his steps and immediately dropped to his right knee. The pilot followed suit in perfect precision. 'MOVEMENT DETECTED.'

Jedi Master Shonn Li pressed his body tightly against the wall of the long internal corridor of the Resilience. His soft breathing, though laboured due to his injury, was kept quiet and imperceptible. Directly parallel stood Padawan Kyne in an awkward lean toward the wall on the other side. His heart was thundering in his chest and his thoughts raced with an anxious blend of unanswered questions. _Be mindful, my Padawan; stay focused_ , came the mental reassurance from his mentor.

As the stoic voice of the Jedi Master echoed within his head Jerron glanced toward Shonn Li. Through the flickering swathes of red beams which darted about the hall in repetition, the Jedi exchanged intentful looks. Despite the loud blaring of the triggered emergency alarms and their incessant verbal warnings, Master Li could keenly sense the encroaching presence of the remaining clones. As before, he lay his hand upon the smooth metal surface of the durasteel panel and quietened his mind. As he attuned his full attention to sensing their surroundings, a short, sharp pain racked up the side of his spine, causing him to wince and clutch at the ugly wound in his flesh. Hot pinpricks of sweat gathered about his temples and he gritted his teeth. Discerning one's local environment through the Force could be challenging, but with his current wounds, the Jedi Master found himself especially impeded. He could not sense the current whereabouts of the troopers, yet a familiar discomfort had once again taken hold in his gut. They were near. Exhaling slowly, he steadied his resolve and quietly raised his left hand, gripping the dormant hilt of his lightsaber. Jerron did the same, holding his own outstretched. Their eyes met for a brief moment before Master Li nodded solemnly and they stepped forward, igniting their weapons together.

The gloomy, latent corridor was immediately awash with the dazzling glare of two green blades. From their grounded position in the middle of the hall, the clones found themselves closer to their quarry than they'd expected. As the Jedi strode out from behind the sides of a nearby bulkhead, the CTs opened fire and the space was instantly ablaze with flashes and clashes of bright light.

Jedi Master Li led the charge, pivoting the saber masterfully between his hands as a volley of blue bolts careened about his body. Deflecting blasts toward the walls and ceiling he marched forward with deliberate dispassion, drawing on the serene focus of the light side to guide his movement. Padawan Kyne followed swiftly behind, allowing the few stray shots which bypassed Li's defence to ricochet haphazardly off his blade. His palms were sweating, the hilt of his lightsaber felt unnaturally heavy and the bottom of his throat gnawed at his concentration with a dry rasp.

Having anticipated a defensive maneuver by the Jedi, Helm and Forge switched up their tactics in a single seamless maneuver. Cranking the rate of fire on his carbine, the sergeant produced an intense bombardment of shots in burst fire, pausing only to slightly alter the angle of his blasts toward the Jedi. Master Li was taken aback as the reactions needed to block the attack became faster and faster, his heels shifting in place as he sunk deeper into steadfast defence. At the same time, Forge drew back his arm and flung a fistful of armed shock grenades toward the targets. The cylindrical explosives hurtled through the space between the combatants, arcing in separate directions over the blaze of quick bursts from Helm's rifle.

Instinctively, Shonn Li raised a hand from his hilt and reached out with the Force. His mind and body in dual design, the Jedi Master pushed with determined might.

Repelled by an invisible field of energy, two of the shock grenades detonated in midair through a dynamic eruption of electric charge. Lightning leapt in all directions, branding the walls and floor with black scorches and narrowly missing the Jedi and his Padawan. But a solitary stray explosive had been pitched off centre and flew nearer the young Jerron Kyne. Following his Master's lead, he too raised an open palm, calling on the power of the Force to stop the grenade in its tracks. He felt a subtle surge of energy in his fingertips which pulsed across his hand as he pushed. The twirling canister was caught in the field a moment too late, expending its full charge in arm's reach from the duo.

Random patterns of scathing electricity leapt toward them as they stepped rearward in a flurry of desperate guards with their blades. Master Shonn Li cried out as his wounds seared with blistering pain. He was closest to the blast, taking the brunt of the shock. Jerron Kyne stumbled backward, barely managing to deflect the numerous high and low fractal arms of the arcing lightning. He took one in the hip and another on his forearm, screaming in agonising panic.

Hearing the anguish in his Padawan's voice, Master Li moved decisively. Grabbing the boy by his shoulder he wrenched the two through the bulkhead behind them, narrowly defending the continued onslaught of the clone troopers' blaster fire. The Jedi retreated backward to safety, the glow of their green lightsaber blades disappearing behind the wide jutting structural beams of the corridor.

A lone series of blue bolts discharged through the centre of the hall before a sudden and tense quiet fell over the space. Once again, uncomfortable darkness permeated the Resilience, marred only by the continued red blinking of ongoing alarm.


	3. Imperative

"Give it up, Jedi. You've got nowhere to go." The sultry bark of Sergeant Helm echoed down the despondent passage of the GR-75's main walkway. The Clone Trooper was breathing steady, his view of the bulkhead steadfast and absolute.

Beside him, Pilot Forge crept closer, activating the internal commlink in his helmet. "I think we hit the master. Don't know about the apprentice."

Helm nodded silently. A brisk stock take of their belts confirmed a surplus of carbine ammunition and two remaining shock grenades, as well as dual pairs of binders.

"What are the orders, Sarge?"

Helm knew better than to enact the same plan a second time. He thought for a moment, the grip on his rifle's handle firm and his sight down its scope unflinching. "We retreat to the mess and defend the bridge."

Forge blinked in surprise. Never one to shy from a skirmish, Helm rarely displayed hesitation to engage an enemy, no matter the odds. "I don't understand. We've got the advantage, we should attack."

The Sergeant barked a retort, his voice low and grim. "No. I've seen firsthand what Jedi are capable of." A sudden sweeping memory of Geonosis crawled across his mind, battalions of clankers torn to pieces by lightsabers, their singed parts scattered in the dust among the fallen bodies of his brothers-in-arms. Sergeant Helm grimaced, blinking away the trauma. "I don't fancy being cut in half today, do you?"

A looming shape darted amid the darkness down the hall and the CTs opened fire. As the brilliant flashes of blue disappeared down the passage, they brightened only an empty hall wreathed in shadows. The barrage ceased abruptly, leaving fading traces of impact where the volley had struck the wall on the distant side of the corridor.

A harrowing tremor of groaning girders and creaking supports shook the Resilience, causing the clones to momentarily lose their balance. They swiftly regained their composure and raised their carbines at once.

Suddenly the emergency klaxon above their position overloaded, the reddish beam intensifying as the repetitive verbal warning became garbled in its pitch. The transparisteel cover of the alarm shattered, spraying shards of hot glass over the troopers. Behind them, the second bulb followed suit. All light vanished from their surroundings. Shadows crept forward from the bulkhead, plunging the corridor into black as Sergeant Helm received a shaky reply to his order. "Copy that."

Jedi Master Shonn Li stood clutching his torso, pressing his fingers against a fresh wound in his chest. Padawan Jerron Kyne leaned against the wall, panting quietly, wiping his palms over the front of his tunic and checking the fresh bruises from the shock grenade. Having retreated to the sides of the bulkhead the Jedi were firmly protected by thick layers of blast-proof durasteel. Shonn let out a soft grunt of pain, his robes rubbing against the seething injury. He folded his cloak closed and tightened the utility belt around his waist.

"Are you hurt, Master?" Jerron whispered.

Master Li's reply was short and sullen. "Yes."

The Padawan bit his lip. "What are we going to do?"

Shonn didn't reply. His face was pained with a troubled expression, with tension in the jaw and creases over his forehead. A part of the Jedi sought to finish the conflict quickly, but another inscrutable feeling nagged at his senses. Master Li grunted, brushing aside any diminutive doubts before they burgeoned into fear. He closed his eyes and balled his fists to numb the pain which racked his body. Within the sanctity of his mind whirled a flurry of desperate thoughts and emotions.

As Master Li exhaled slowly, Jerron too began to meditate, straightening his posture and grasping the smooth texture of the metal clasp of his belt. It always helped him focus.

After a moment, Shonn Li opened his eyes, the will of the Force held clearly in his mind. "It must be done," he whispered. The Padawan broke his concentration and stared up at his Master. "We make for the escape pods," the Jedi continued, calm and with utter surety.

Jerron Kyne nodded in understanding. The Clone Troopers were no match for Master Li, but he had sustained too great an injury. If they didn't find help soon... Jerron couldn't bear the thought.

Shonn Li continued in a hushed tone. "It is likely our position remains over a major hyperspace lane somewhere near Hutt Space. The short-range transmitter can signal any passers-by and Force willing, we'll make it out of here."

The Padawan recognised the flaw in the plan immediately. "But what about the clone troopers?"

Master Li inhaled. Despite the tension of the situation, his pupil still displayed a sharp intellect. His solemn response was mingled with respect for the young Jedi. "I'll hold them off."

Suddenly, a series of bright bolts discharged down the passageway before them both, narrowly missing Master Li, who shuffled two steps back nearer the wall. The learned Jedi Master raised his hands, unrolling his fists and pressing into the curved ceiling of the hall. He turned his head to Jerron, a look of expectant stoicism on his face. "Go," he spoke.

The Padawan swallowed the hard lump of nervous confusion in his throat. "Yes, Master," came the whispered reply.

As Jerron Kyne turned and quietly crept down the edge of the walkway toward the cargo bay, past their shared quarters and through the bulkheads, Master Li allowed a smile to edge across his lips. Just this once, he permitted the proud feelings of his heart to linger in his mind. _One day, Jerron Kyne shall be a greater Jedi than I_ , he thought. Turning his focal point to the solid sheets of metal above his grasp, Shonn Li breathed deeply, centred himself within the Force and began to push.

As he rounded the corner of the corridor and slipped past the side struts of the final bulkhead to the cargo bay hall, Jerron Kyne broke into a run. At every step, his mind raced with images of what had just befallen himself and his Master. The clone trooper lying at a gruesome angle with his face gouged open, the horrific gashes in Master Li's chest, the frantic wielding of his ignited blade against an onslaught of blaster bolts; it was all too much to bear. Tears brimmed in the Padawan's eyes and he wiped them away with the sleeve of his robe as he closed the gap between himself and the docking bay, which lay adjacent to the safety of the small emergency ships.

Jerron's heart leapt in his chest as his stride led him over the last threshold to the bay. There they were, the three escape pods tucked neatly in their stations. In the dark of the tail end of the Resilience, hazard lighting still illuminated the surroundings, ensuring the capsules were fully visible. The docking bay of the GR-75 was neat and tidy, shelves stacked with supplies in large canisters, metal lockboxes and plasteel cases. At the far end of the bay, nearest the centre of the ship was an enclosed tunnel leading to the hyperdrive and its secondary power systems. The room hummed with a background throng, buzzing with the ongoing processing of data servers, access terminals and multiple grates of powered ventilation.

Padawan Kyne dashed directly across the open space to the foremost control panel for the pods. His mind was racing as he began punching in codes to initiate the automated launch program.

'Manual Access Granted,' read the Aurebesh text protocol. The air-locked capsule door to the closest escape pod hissed open, first revolving in place before levering outward amid a cautious pattern of flashing yellow guiding lights. Jerron stepped briskly into the cramped hexagonal space, laying a hand for support on the nearest padded wall as he leaned over the centre terminal located on the immediate inner left panel of the ship. After keying in the correct program for initiation, the young Jedi finally released the tension in his body, slumping against the cushioned seats of the pod and hyperventilating into the palms of his hands.

Stalking through the pitch black of the cramped service corridor, Master Shonn Li approached the entrance to the modular engine room of the Gallofree. His gait was straightforward and purposeful with little regard for the echo of his leather boots upon the thin metal floor. As he dwelt on the Force with every movement, the old Jedi Master enacted his plan for escape. Though the wounds to his sternum, shoulder and stomach were severe, his meditative practice allowed him to ignore the excruciating pain, for now. He ducked into the small antechamber and straightened up within the rising geometric dome of the angular ceiling. Shonn was met with a trio of tall modular power generators, the electrical flux of their converters reverberating with controlled arcs of live current which leapt between each pylon's zenith in a mesmerising display of energetic potential. As he crossed the grated walkway to the central control terminal, the thoughtful Jedi paused for a brief moment, his hand hovering over the access panel. _It must be done_ , he thought, before lowering the multiple dials for the power routers simultaneously. The perpetual hum of the ship's energetic demands quietened to an inaudible buzz as the generators powered down, disabling all primary systems of the GR-75. Breathing a sigh of relief and finality, Master Li stepped away from the control and stooped through the doorway, continuing down the length of the service tunnel toward the mess hall of the Resilience. He strode onward with his hands held open, their palms turned to face the mess of electrical wires and computer modules which lined the walls of the cramped corridor. Allowing his vision to stray slightly from the path before him, Shonn Li centred his thoughts within the pragmatic comfort of the light side of the Force. The cluttered passage seemed to melt away. The pain of his wound, which had amplified with every step, now appeared to dissipate as he focused only on the will of the Force and its profound message. _It must be done_.

Padawan Jerron Kyne brought his hands down from his face and shook his head. A strange, indescribable sensation had crept up the nape of his neck in conjunction with the very moment he'd opened his eyes. His line of sight held a clear view of the escape pod's internal monitor blinking a live status for launch, but it did not hold his attention. As though waking from a dream, the young Jedi stood from the seat and slowly exited the capsule's doorway. Time felt slow to the point of static suspension and Jerron could no longer hear the ongoing sounds of operating machinery, nor feel the irregular breeze of the circulating ventilation program. His senses were drawn elsewhere. Just afront of the cargo bay's threshold which he'd entered through moments before was a sight both disturbing and wondrous. Gone was the darkened corridor and the revolving flashes of alarming sirens. Now, a bustling marketplace full of vivid characters and vibrant movement in a dingy off-world settlement lay in its place. The sky above was marred with eruptive orange clouds which swirled and stormed in endless undulation and a bitter, stagnant wind blew down the filthy streets, stinging his nostrils with a sour malodour. He witnessed enormous carrier vessels thundering over the horizon as passers-by scuttled into alleyways, carrying armfuls of supplies and handheld cargo. Jerron gasped, taken aback by the ineffable nature of the vision before him. As though magnified through a macrobinocular's lens, the scope of the observation appeared to amplify, drawing his perception to the far end of a wide, grimy backstreet. There, standing at the crest of a cracked stone staircase, illuminated by the numerous neon lights of underworld establishments stood a lone figure. It was tall and slight, with features indistinguishable in the shadowy gamma bloom. Draped in a long hooded robe, they struck a stalwart pose with their arms crossed about their chest. As Padawan Kyne watched on in disbelief, the being gently let go their grasp and lifted a hand toward him, their palm upturned. He froze, unmoving and in a sublime instant, Jerron was filled with the most unshakable knowing that his presence had been felt.

The unmistakable sounds of discharged blaster bolts rang out through the halls of the Resilience. They echoed within Jerron's head, snapping his conscious mind to reality and away from the mystery of the figure on the steps. He stepped away with his own arm outstretched instinctively. The figure was gone, as were the dreary buildings of the ramshackle streets, the hubbub of the unknown city and the acrid sulphurous smell. Engulfed in confusion, Jerron Kyne's thoughts raced unfettered.

Another series of shots resonated through the cargo bay followed by the thrumming drone of a lightsaber mingled with a terrible scream. The Padawan took several steps toward the escape pod, taking the uncomfortably heavy hilt of his emerald bladed saber into his hands. Breathing quickly, he raised the weapon in front of his body, ready to ignite. Suddenly, in a flash of blue blasts and a sequence of pained grunts, Jedi Master Shonn Li tumbled through the doorway to the bay. His body struck the ground hard, slamming into the grated metal floor with a gut-wrenching thud. His lightsaber deactivated upon impact, its hilt launching from his grasp and scattering across the floor.

Sergeant Helm marched in after him and drew his rifle into firing position after having brutally struck the Jedi with its butt. The clone fired another round into the Master's stomach. Shonn Li cried out in pain.

Jerron was frozen in place with terror dawning over his features. Helm immediately turned his attention to the Padawan, squeezing the trigger of his DC-15S and unloading its clip upon the boy.

Jerron switched on his gleaming blade. He swung the saber left and right, managing to deflect the brunt of the assault.

The sergeant continued to advance, showing little regard for his own safety as his bolts ricocheted wildly off the inexperienced Jedi's defences. Padawan Kyne stumbled back into the escape pod just as Helm ejected an emptied clip from his rifle's magazine and swiftly replaced it with a loaded one from his belt.

Seizing the opportunity, Jerron slammed his hand into the manual control for the capsule, the blast-proof door closing between them as the clone fired into the pod. Jerron's lightsaber tip scarred at the walls as he guarded the last few blaster bolts which entered before the hatch closed and the safety clamps locked into place.

Helm instantly flipped his carbine around and began to bash at the thick transparisteel windows of the capsule's door. "You're a traitor to the Republic!" the sergeant roared furiously, hammering away with all his might.

Jerron extinguished his weapon, letting the hilt fall to the floor. "Master Li!" he shouted, pressing his strength against the pod.

Behind the enraged Clone Trooper, Jedi Master Shonn Li lay. His aged body was racked with numerous wounds, from a gaping gash on his forehead to the harrowing blasts in his bloody chest. He gasped for breath as it rattled in his lungs. Forcing his eyes open, the Jedi's bleary gaze settled upon the small opening to the service tunnel which led to the backup generators and the hyperdrive, a warping, sapphire glow emanating from its nearby chamber. _It must be done_.

As Jerron watched on in horror, Master Li shakily stretched toward the tunnel with a bloodstained hand, forcing his fingers into an aberrant claw. "Master Li!" Padawan Kyne screamed.

Helm cried out in rage, striking at the hatch with increasing ferocity. "Traitors!"

Shonn reached out with the Force, the sense of his body ebbing away. He gripped firm upon the powerful source of contained energy stored within the hyperdrive's nexus.

"Master Li!"

A sudden voice, familiar and fatherly, eased itself into the depths of Jerron's mind. _In all my years... you were my greatest... discovery_.

In an instant of immense will, in thorough solidarity with the divine will of the Force itself, Jedi Master Shonn Li crushed the reinforced shell of the dormant hyperdrive. The exocarp buckled and cracked, snapping and splintering as the fortified hull folded in upon itself, stray beams of blinding cobalt light leaping forth and tearing away at the structure of the ship. An enormous explosion burst outward, instantaneously ripping the GR-75 apart at its core as wayward rays of streaking blue energy triggered the power generators to erupt in flashes of glaring white lightning. Padawan Jerron Kyne was launched backward by the impact which ripped the Resilience asunder and propelled the escape pod from its station, cracking the back of his head against the capsule's ceiling. His world plunged into darkness as the Gallofree was immolated in a prismatic explosion of unyielding light.


	4. Acquisition

A nightmarish fusion of recent memories and disturbing imagery sped through the mind of the unconscious Padawan whose motionless body lay bundled in the tip of the escape pod as it hurtled through space. Propelled by incredible force from the exploding hyperdrive of the Resilience, the capsule soared for some time before its automated jets ignited as the short range scanner detected a nearby broadcast. Homing in upon the atmospheric horizon of a lush and vibrant planet, located just past the borders of Hutt Space where the Republic Gallofree had been destroyed, the tiny ship entered the exosphere, where it began to shudder and shake.

The violent movement of the craft translated to vicious uncertainty within Jerron's dreams. One moment, a clear and familiar view of Jedi Master Shonn Li's features brought a semblance of peace to the boy, only for it to swiftly be replaced by the traumatic memory of his bloodied, beaten body as he had lay groaning on the floor of the GR-75s cargo bay. The Padawan's eyes flickered and he whimpered softly, still unconscious.

Dipping into the topmost borders of the planet's thermosphere, the escape pod was suddenly impacted with the gravitational force of the enormous terrestrial world. It was drawn down suddenly, speeding toward the incredible mass of the globe. The nose of the capsule rattled with extreme inertia as it gathered momentum, hurtling into the bright mesosphere where it began heating to the degree of open flames that burst against its tip. The immense air pressure shook the pod and it quaked in rapid descent before reaching terminal velocity in its uncontrolled dive.

Memories flashed through Jerron's mind of the identical faces of clone troopers followed by the rampage of Sergeant Helm in his striped armour as he bashed frantically against the hatch. He remembered the firm grip of his lightsaber’s hilt, the vivid clashing of its blade and the frenzied defence against an onslaught of blasts. There was blood, blood and pain, bright electric shocks of thrown grenades and brutal saber wounds in the corpses of soldiers. Jerron groaned aloud as his eyes rolled behind closed lids. His body shook with irregular convulsions. In his senseless state, Padawan Kyne was at the mercy of recent traumas which taunted him in the dark.

The lone escape pod plummeted through the lower atmosphere of the massive, unknown planet. Beyond its cracked transparisteel windows was a world in dusk of a long day, with a large sun setting over the burnished skyline. In the prevalent cloud cover flew flocks of gigantic aerial beasts, their huge earth-like exoskeletons covered in an abundance of wild flora which blew in the smoky wake of the passing pod. The creatures worriedly drew their long dangling tentacles close and wove their thick carapaces shut as the stray capsule dove in their midst, narrowly missing several of their own. With an indignant, low pitched roar, the largest of the beasts swung it's heavy appendages at the impertinent intruder in their skies. Its primary psuedopod collided, knocking the capsule off its course to the vague safety of the spaceport far below and instead sending it careening towards a series of verdant ranges that lay before a wide patch of sprawling irrigated fields in the distance.

Only one of the four rocket boosters of the ship remained operational as it shot across the ether. It spiralled uncontrollably, whipping about in a dangerous arc. Bent and twisted, the metal hull of the capsule shot sparks into the air amid billowing plumes of black smoke that trailed behind it. The escape pod had now reached a visible height from the planet’s surface, where a variety of onlookers watched it drop from the heavens. Out of range of the spaceport’s tractor beam and beyond the range of collision recovery crews, the emergency vessel had no support whatsoever in its crash landing. Breaking through a grove of dense vegetation at the summit of a cresting mountain, the ship crashed through the dense forest canopy only to gain momentum as it tumbled down a cliff-side. It careered off sheer peaks, skipping onto its side and rolling over upon itself as it toppled downward. Thick swathes of foliage were crushed as the pod made its way down the mountain and left behind it a trail of destruction that marred the serene beauty of the ranges. Nearing the ground at last, the out-of-control vessel broke through the borders of the woods and skipped along the forest floor which gave way to open plains then swampy marsh. It bounced, rolled and skidded about the earth leaving upturned soil, shredded plant matter and deep ugly holes in its path.

A tall durasteel perimeter beacon, which stood watch over the surrounding mire, was sundered to the ground as the capsule ploughed through its centre in a fiery explosion. The impact of the collision squashed the remaining booster of the craft, which finally began to slow its rampant trajectory. It veered into a wide agricultural paddy where working figures in matching uniforms and protective masks scrambled to escape the pods dangerous approach. Clipping the rim of an inlaid ferrocrete basin, the vessel flipped into the air before falling into the large semi-toroid pond containing stagnant water and a gigantic flailing vine. It dropped directly into the central node of the monstrous plant, a spongy purple membrane filled with viscous goo, which burst upon impact and sprayed toxic maroon sludge over the immediate surroundings.

Voices in a myriad of languages cried out in shock and concern as dozens of sentient lifeforms rushed to the scene. The shivering vine was seizing and flailing in obvious distress, it's elongated, plump roots writhing wildly in the air as the swampy waters beneath the entity churned in torment. Workers which neared the site first immediately recoiled at the horrific stench of the ooze before tightening their hazard masks, activating their breathing gas reserves and attempting to reach the devastated escape pod. An aged Rodian with chartreuse scales and a thin, wiry build managed to dodge a thrashing arm of the vine, ducking beneath it and leaping forward to grab hold of the vessels totalled remnants. He wrapped his phalanges around the handle of the hatch and suctioned on before wrenching at the capsule to drag it from the plants core. Straining at its combined weight and the thrashing fury of the vine, the Rodian alone could not shift the dense hunk of metal and glass. He pulled and twisted with grim determination.

"Heppo jeesh!" the Rodian yelled in Huttese, as a few more labourers managed to out-maneuver the floundering plant to reach the pod. Together they dragged its remains over the vine to the muddy grounds of the ponds outskirts. The workers then collapsed, slipping upon the slime covered soil as they attempted to steady the craft.

A shudder of fast-approaching, heavy footsteps sent the small crowd sprawling away from the capsule. Emerging from behind the gathering stomped a tall, broad-shouldered, shiny, metallic being with polished plating and a black sensory band that lined the width of its facial panel. Its bulky frame caused it to sink into the marsh with every weighted step so it compensated by moving rapidly in determined strides. As the robotic entity reached the crash site it rose to its full imposing height and towered over the scene.

"What is the meaning of this unsanctioned break in labour?" It addressed the workers directly, its vocal pattern masculine, loud and monotonous. As the rabble averted their gaze and shifted out of its way, the machine then marched into the centre of the small motley group and stopped short of the pod’s mangled wreckage. Glancing at one another, the labourers stood still with their hands raised in front of them, palms, appendages and claws outstretched in a show of subservience.

"Return to your assigned duties immediately," continued the droid.

As it issued this command, the robot raised a mechanical arm which swivelled in place, the wrist folding outward to reveal an inbuilt ion rifle which now emitted a high pitched tone as it charged to fire. Suddenly, the machine turned about, revolving 180 degrees at its waist and leaving its lower half still facing the pod. It rotated slowly, aiming the energized weapon at each worker in measured succession.

"Desist, or risk termination."

The nearest worker, a thick-skinned Sullustan, quickly bowed her head and backed up from the group to trudge toward an identical pond nearby. Others, including a dishevelled Bothan, muddied Mon Calimari and the lanky Rodian followed suit, grumbling to themselves and readjusting their protective clothing as they tramped to attend their designated stations. Upon arrival, each worker picked up a small shock baton bearing two exposed conductor forks at its tip and resumed their gritty task of hacking into the tendrils of the vines, which grumbled odiously from the depths of each murky pond.

As the droid completed its revolution to face the ruined vessel that lay in the swamp, it paused for a brief moment, its upper cognitive processor vibrating slightly as it received an incoming direct transmission. Then its black band pulsed with patterns of red code which displayed on its primary interface. In a measured instant the mechanical being bent forward as the ionized weapon in its arm partially retracted. Opening its bulky metal hands, it activated equipped heavy servogrips and clamped down upon a jutting sheet of protruding durasteel near the vessels hatch. The droid drove its grasp toward itself as hydraulic pistons in its limbs fired off, sending tiny sprays of exhausted gas into the air. Tears in the dense shell of the pod appeared as the metal bent and stretched before finally ripping beneath the immense applied pressure. The droid peeled away layers of plating with a single pulling motion and took several paces backward before tossing the flayed chunk of hefty veneer to the ground.

Many of the labourers who had retreated from the ship now found themselves distracted, peeking at, or downright staring to, the bewildering intrusion into their dismal world. The machine stepped firmly into view of the pods contents and an excited silence dawned over the sullen plantation. Sounds of hard toil ceased amid the incessant gurgling of the vines. All stood watch in conjoined fascination at what or who was contained in the crumpled ruins of the unidentified vessel.

In an advanced and lavish observatory, fitted with extravagant furnishings fit for galactic royalty, sat a beautiful, mature human woman. Her posture was poised with measured grace as she sat tall upon a backless throne, her gaze captivated by the unfolding events of a direct video feed from the photoreceptor of her most competent mechanical subject. The enormous augmented screen filled the room before her with a golden interface, layered in front of the massive surveying windows which ringed the topmost tower of her grand estate. Through the eyes of her warden droid, she had watched in vexation as an unannounced emergency craft forced a crash landing upon the borders of her hold, demolished an enclosed sensor beacon and finally disrupted production within her private plantation. With furious haste, she had immediately ordered the modified 501-Z unit to investigate and now waited with baited breath for an explanation to her undignified alarm. As she watched the feed with a keen focus, her imagination ran wild beneath perfect composure. What possible exposition could warrant such intrusion upon her personal business? The vivid display depicted her droid standing over what appeared to be an inexorably damaged escape pod, likely from a deep space freighter or something of that ilk. It was crumpled and distorted, its transparisteel apertures shattered and its unfamiliar shape appeared scarcely secure. She tilted her head imperiously and spoke aloud.

"Zel."

A red bordered confirmation response toggled over the upper right of the interface, signalling that her communication was received.

"Open the vessel."

The droid briskly complied. It grappled with the thick durasteel husk of the craft and pried its way in, removing a sheet of metal the length of the pod with ease.

The woman lent forward in her seat, resting gently upon her elbows with eager concentration on the proceeding events. Her tongue pressed itself into the roof of her mouth and her eyes widened with suspense.

"Show me what's inside," she said, her words formed in a delicate whisper.

As Zel loomed over the exposed innards of the capsule, the woman let out an audible gasp. Lying in an awkward position with his limbs splayed out at uncomfortable angles was the unconscious Padawan Jerron Kyne. The droid slowly panned its photoreceptor to showcase the minute details of the pod, parts of the shared interface zooming in to focus on individual elements of the revealed scene, accompanied by specific labels assigned in its specialised programming. It appeared to be a human boy, little older than a child, but the woman immediately recognised the telltale pious brown robes of the galaxy's most notorious doctrine. The young male bore a litany of fresh lacerations and horrid contusions over much of his body in clear evidence of the treacherous crash landing he'd endured. Other than his injuries, he was dark skinned, weedy and short, with his hair neatly trimmed, except for a single long brown braid which tucked behind his left ear and trailed out onto his chest. An automated thermal detector abruptly flashed onto the overlay and provided a set of stable, if not irregular, vital signs of the subject in frame. The boy was alive.

Enraptured, the aristocratic woman promptly directed the wardens action once again.

"His weapon, Zel. Locate his weapon!" Her words became frantic. Eyes darting feverishly over the feed, she studied the screen for any signs of the infamous armament of the Republic's greatest protectors.

Tilting its view, the droid continued its preliminary observation with dutiful zeal when it suddenly spotted an object protruding from beneath the subject's right thigh, hidden between the damaged internal walls of the pod and the body. Zel raised its left hand and deactivated the industrial magnetic clamp before extending the length of its reach to an unnatural extent and gently prying the article from beneath the boy's unresponsive limb. Rotating its wrist, the warden droid brought the heavy device into full frame of the feed as a loud and ecstatic voice burst into its transmitter.

"A Jedi!" the woman proclaimed in elated disbelief.

In a moment of unprecedented mechanical impairment, the central processor of the early model warden droid became clogged with the instant overburden of enhanced and enlarged data coupled with the demanding upload requirement of live transmission. Its foremost processing unit malfunctioned and the interface flickered, distorting into a patchy display of empty pixels. Zel's robotic head swivelled randomly and paused at janky angles before revolving again without cause or order. Simultaneous to the bizarre display of faulty hardware, the routinely compliant 501-Z inadvertently conveyed aloud the most recent private communication from his proprietress. As a miscellaneous bout of random white code flashed across its visual encoder, Zel amplified the voice of the woman in the tower who sat in strict observation over the facility.

"A Jedi!" proclaimed the droid blaringly, its tone calibrated to perfect playback.

The workers who had previously ceased operations to eavesdrop on the event looked at one another with astonishment and distress. Others, who had continued their tasks, now faltered and turned to see in dubious apprehension. Some dashed to nearby fellows to spread the word, their voices carrying aloft on the fell breeze which wafted through the filth of the farm.

"Jedi."

"It's a Jedi!"

"Mother of Moons."

"The Jedi are here!"

"Muy bombad, Jedi."

A blinding white flash issued sharply from Zel's band of black reflective material embedded in its facial plating. Visual data for the live transmission was rendered temporarily offline leaving only patchy audio available to the woman in command. In an automatic response to idle workers, detectable gossip and the accidental verbal broadcast, the warden droid straightened up. It turned its head to a front-facing position and engaged its integral weaponry which hummed as a blue flux of energy gathered at its barrel. Rotating quickly at the waist, Zel lifted its left arm and let loose a calculated trio of warning shots with quantum precision. A bolt struck the insipid ground a mere pace before the frightened Sullustan who dropped backward in a curled fall. The other two blasts struck nearest the Bothan and an aged Gungan, narrowly missing their crouching frames with ion pulses that crackled into thin smoke. Sudden shrieks of distress from the workers were swiftly replaced by the sounds of panic-stricken manual labour in the droid's vicinity. Sparking shock batons were speedily activated and once again plunged deep into the dense vegetation that emerged from the surrounding pits.

The regal woman's voice immediately accosted the droid following the loud discharge of it's rifle. Her tone was short and demanding with a distinct edge of agitation at her lack of knowledge and control over the critical situation.

"Status report, now," she snarled.

Zel reversed its stance and unravelled the rotational core within its mechanised waist, taking several strides forward and a brief tactical moment to scan the area. Computing that order was restored to the plant once more, it re-engaged private communications with the overseer and recovered their momentarily impaired link, manually switching to a stable closed connection.

"I apologize sincerely, Madam. My order amplification protocol was activated without authorisation."

"You useless bucket of bolts!" spat the woman, her tone suddenly shifting from annoyance to cruel fury. She leapt up from her opulent crimson throne and stood firm, raising an accusatory finger toward the restored video feed. "Deliver the Jedi and his weapon to the domestic sector then report for re-diagnostics. You require a total system reset, you feckless metalhead!"

"Affirmative," came the rapid, droning reply from the warden.

As the interface blinked out of existence, its golden augmented overlay shimmering out of sight, the lofty woman let out a maddened growl. She clenched her jaw and fists in frustration at the unacceptable lack of professionalism displayed by the droid in managing this most sensitive matter.

"Worthless..." she snapped quietly, through gritted teeth. "Incompetent..."

Closing both eyes and releasing the tension in her muscles, the Madam slowly let go the feelings of malice that had briefly overflowed and found them replaced with the genesis of an idea which slowly began to take form. She inhaled through her nose and resumed a perfect posture, blinking away the disturbance and adjusting her delicate, flowing silken robes. Clearing her throat and aligning the many precious rings upon her slender fingers, she assumed an attitude of absolute calm.

"I can salvage this. It matters not."

The woman's eyes twinkled with an abnormal glint, and an odd sneer snuck into the edges of her lips. Waving a hand over the domed electronic pad at the corner of her desk, she engaged the shutters over the windows and dimmed the lights. Then with dignified grace, she stepped from the comfortable seat and strode briskly to a large circular archway leading to a personal turbolift, which descended into the vast splendour of the manor's central chambers.

Securing its hold on the lightsaber hilt, Zel activated isolated servogrips and rear movement photosensors, glancing at the unconscious quarry behind it. The droid strode in reverse and revolved its right flexed forearm section in place to engage hydraulics for the task ahead. It approached the pod and grasped the Jedi firmly, securing a hold upon the front of the boy's bloodied robes. Half lifting, half dragging the child, Zel hauled him into a more assured position with a twist of its wrist and re-established a grip upon the rear collar of his multi-layered garments. With the Jedi now steadfast in custody, the modified 501-Z began to march along the central pathway of the agricultural sector. As always, its automated tracking was fixated upon the palatial ediface of an enormous central building which stood dominant over the grounds and it loaded a predetermined course to the security gate of the nearest entrance to the domestic sector. Located before the warden droid lay a winding causeway between the outer and inner layers of the plantation's many cultivation tanks, leading to a giant industrial subterranean turbolift that was surrounded by automated checkpoints and enclosed grated catwalks. Beyond a set of ascending stairs, a further safety checkpoint, and the pristine scenic paths of Madam's private botanical gardens, Zel identified and marked the destination of its delivery. The warden calmly plodded through dank puddles and over small wayward rootstocks as it towed Padawan Jerron Kyne behind, keeping a rear sensor warily trained on the child at all times. With each hefty step, the boy's heels bounced and his limp body rolled as it was pulled through patches of festering organic waste that lay strewn over the walkway.

As the droid and its cargo stomped through the designated farming zones, past raised durasteel platforms protruding from the mud and large open containers of harvested biological material, the busy workers took hazard to pause in their exertion. Some watched on in fascination and marvel, others stared with grim condolence and few scoffed with repugnance at the sight of the incapacitated boy wearing dirty and besmirched Jedi garb. Their eyes followed the grungy leather boots now caked in the mire, the simple cotton pants and traditional hand-stitched tunic, and the long woven band of hair which surely marked the child as a member of that mysterious order. Though without fail, whether accompanied by expressions of favour or distaste, every eye that watched them pass found itself transfixed in wonder upon the strange metallic hilt of the inactive lightsaber, which openly obtruded from the hand of the droid. A weapon of unsurpassed renown from the tales of myth and legend across the galaxy; its appearance alone filled every heart with a sense of tangible awe.


	5. Matriarch

Jerron tossed and turned beneath the blinding glare of a spotlight above his stretcher. The boy's eyes were clamped shut in desperate sleep and beads of anxious sweat accumulated upon his forehead. A dull aching pain had sunk in during his extended lapse of consciousness, and throughout the long night, it had tormented him, accompanied by dreams of hideous creatures lurking in shadow. A quiet, nameless fear which bore no discernible face, but that filled Jerron Kyne with an invisible sense of vexation and foreboding. As they had before, Jerron's eyes shot open as a shifting presence in the room interrupted the constant brightness of the fixated bulbs above. Bloodshot and weary, his vision was too impaired to discern any details of his surroundings or what shape loomed over his restrained body. He grunted as a shrill electrical noise began, seemingly near the nape of his neck.

A cold pressure was applied to the boy's collarbone and he moaned aloud in discomfort, writhing instinctively upon the gurney. In his delirium, the Padawan could barely make out sounds of indistinct binary chatter issuing from within the room. A sudden smell permeated the brightened space. It was caustic and metallic, like the soldering of alloy or the release of some ignoble gas. To the rampant delirium of his mind, it was immediately interpreted as familiar. A sudden flash of recent memory jolted the Padawan's feverish form. It was the winding city street he had seen before. Beneath a tumultuous orange sky, overcast in breaking grey cloud cover, the filthy roadway littered with scrap and refuse was teeming with an abundance of life. Beings of all description scurried about the space, talking, yelling, running, hawking, begging, brawling and dealing. But beyond the busy hubbub of the squalid thoroughfare and past the crowds of numerous folk, Jerron felt an unmistakable pull of the Force. His awareness was drawn far from himself, yet he could not discern where. Peering through the comings and goings of the dismal slum, the Padawan walked into the dream as though his movements were guided not of his own accord. Jerron followed the feeling of intuitive design as it led his astral body deeper in. Like waters parting with the tide, the surroundings of the city appeared to dissipate before his eyes. The inhabitants of the town seemed to melt away into an incorporeal vapour that hung in the air, void of colour or recognition.

His gaze was then drawn to the foot of a rough stone staircase which wound up a murky hill, strewn with discarded junk and piles of accumulating garbage. Standing at the topmost step was a figure clad in dark hooded robes. Jerron gasped. The being drew a hand from crossed arms and slowly began to raise it toward the boy.

"Who are you?" the Padawan yelled, the sound of his voice lost in the vibrant din of the busy city.

There was no reply. Blinking lights flashed overhead and Jerron Kyne raised a hand against the glare. In an instant, the figure was gone. It had phased out of existence along with the cracked stairs, the shabby buildings and the roiling stormy skies. The ground started to quake beneath the Padawan's feet. He cried out as the last fragments of the dream disintegrated below causing him to fall head over heels, plummeting down into an inky black chasm.

Jerron woke with a forceful start. He came back to consciousness suddenly, sitting upright upon a stretcher bed, shaking his head in an attempt to coax his bleary eyes to focus on his surroundings. But try as he might, his vision remained blurred and disorientated. A spark of pain scratched into his inner forearm and he yelped aloud.

"Shulu stidd" blared a dynamic, high pitched tone.

The present noise of small firing Repulsorlifts combined with the immediate audible command in monotone Huttese led the boy to determine he was at the mercy of some kind of floating droid.

The light above his position brightened with a piercing whine as several more bulbs blinked on at once, causing Jerron to grunt and turn his head aside to escape the glare. As he sought to move away, the Padawan's motion was prevented by a cold, uncomfortable pressure which surrounded his neck in a tight embrace. His arms were pinned to his sides by two rigid cuffs which bound his wrists, and Jerron could feel a bale of wires draped over his exposed midriff that led to a canular in his flesh. A horrible, churning sensation of alarm gnawed at the pit of his stomach.

"Where am I?" he demanded, his voice croaky and hoarse.

"Shulu aliet" came the direct response.

A shadowy being hovered over his confined limbs. Its presence felt intrusive and unsettling. In a flash which left scorching colours seared into Jerron's vision, the lights above were suddenly switched off. Ambient sounds of metal objects clattering together and buzzing electrical currents swamped his awareness. He blinked his eyes repeatedly and shook his head in an effort to perceive something, anything, of the situation. Fading into view came two dull yellow bulbs behind lined vertical panels which were attached to a thin, compressed metal frame. Jerron faintly recognised the front-facing design of an AZI Medical Droid, a unit commonly utilised in service of the Grand Army of the Republic and more recently in the Medical Bay of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. It casually levitated above his outstretched arm with small jets of blue and yellow pulses firing at it's back. In a state of shock, the Padawan registered that its mechanical appendages were clamped around a small object which dug sharply into his arm. The droid rotated its wrists as it slowly removed a long cylindrical tube from inside his vein and a current of pain shot up the boy's shoulder. Jerron cried out in anguish. As the robotic being sprayed a strong-smelling chemical sealant over the cut in his arm, the Padawan's mind raced.

_Where am I?_ he dared to wonder. _Have I made it to a Republic vessel?_

A vivid memory of Clone Trooper Sergeant Helm angrily slamming the dented butt of his carbine rifle against cracked transparisteel windows flashed into mind.

"Traitors," Jerron whispered, as Sergeant Helm simultaneously roared the word in his head. A wave of confusion swept over the boy, his forehead thundering with a swiftly dawning headache. He groaned aloud.

"Uba nobata bsha" issued the droid at a bold volume. It activated the magnetic soft-locks of the bed which caught the raw metal of the patient's newly fitted neckband in their field and immediately pulled the child back into a prostrate position.

Padawan Jerron Kyne coughed and struggled at his bonds, gritting his teeth and straining against the unseen force applied to the uncomfortable metal clasp around his neck. His heart was pounding and his thoughts were full of vibrant fears which could not be assuaged.

The AZI Droid turned its full attention to the status of the patient's vital signs that prominently displayed in its visual interface. The machine raised extended digits and clicked them together rhythmically as it approached the bed once more. Surveying the recently fused join of the shock collar fitted upon the patient, the droid blinked with approval at its own soldering work before hovering ever closer and keying in the activation codes to the live control broadcast for the apparatus.

A bolt of electricity buzzed through the collar as it was activated, causing Jerron to gasp and writhe under its shooting sting. It sent shivers down his spine and made his skin crawl with painful spasms. He stopped moving as the charge momentarily locked his limbs into place and left him with a physical reminder to remain obedient. Somehow, the short electrical burst had cleared some of the grogginess which blurred his vision. Closing his eyes for a moment, Jerron Kyne allowed his focus to return as he quietened his mind through the silent recitation of the Jedi Code for younglings.

_'Emotion, yet peace,'_ he began, his heart rate slowing in conjunction with his thoughts _. 'Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity.'_

A sliding metal door lifted into the ceiling somewhere nearby. Jerron felt a pattern of vibrations through the floor and the bed, along with loud heavy footsteps as something approached the stretcher and stood over him, remaining out of sight. The Padawan lent his attention to the rapid rises in his chest and began to quiet his breathing.

_'Chaos, yet harmony.'_

"Acquisition 137 is required in the Arboretum" issued a loud droning order, empty of melody. "Release Acquisition 137 into my custody immediately."

Jerron opened his eyes at the same time as the rough metal cuffs about his wrists and ankles fell open, the magnetic field reversed its hold over him and he was pushed upright.

_'Death, yet the Force.'_

Towering over both the floating AZI Medical Droid and the seated Padawan stood 501-Z3L, a domineering edifice of hydraulic muscles and heavy-duty industrial components. Its chromatic plating reflected with the sheen of recent polishing and it's bulky frame bore a multitude of upgraded robotic components that had been integrated into its outdated design. A black band ringed the upper portion of its reinforced facial plating, shimmering with a sinister oblivious quality. The machine swayed slightly in place as small pistons fired off tiny sprays of hydraulic gas with each movement of its dense form.

Despite the noticeable modifications of an ionized weapon built into the droid's right forearm, a large storage compartment installed upon its back and extra layers of blast-proof shielding around its core, Jerron vaguely recognised the design of this machine. Like the AZI, this was a Republic droid, although the Padawan could not remember a time he'd seen this model, except on the lowest levels of Coruscant during an excursion many years ago. He could not discern its unit name, protocol or purpose, but the stocky shoulders, heavy armour and illegal installations suggested that this machine was built for combat. As these thoughts sprang up in Jerron's head, the mechanical being rotated at the neck and tilted its photoreceptor band down toward the boy. A red light blinked on in the centre module of the machine's visual processor.

"You are required to stand." As it spoke, a crimson light flashed outward in a ripple of code across the reflective black strip.

Under the constant gaze of the machine, Padawan Kyne slowly began to move his tired body. He was naked, but for the scuffed pants of his Padawan robes that had been trimmed roughly at the knee. A medley of black bruises peppered his pale olive skin and several spots over his flesh appeared to have been resealed with a chemical spray. Every movement resounded with a dull pain that racked his muscles and each breath caught itself raggedly in his chest. Jerron gingerly shifted himself to the edge of the stretcher. A groan escaped his lips as the boy lowered both legs from the raised gurney and blood rushed to his extremities with a tingly ache.

"Do not resist," barked the droid in a stout monotone.

Sparking with arcing bursts of electricity, the shock collar around Jerron's neck leapt to life. It surged against the grazes and bruises along his collarbone, issuing a burst of high voltage agony that racked the muscles of his upper body. He cried out, his voice cracking with the current that ravaged his senses. Jerron was thrown forward with wild spasms in his limbs which sent him toppling to his knees upon the ground.

The droid produced a strange, deep tone which rippled with red flashes across its facial band. It almost sounded pleased.

"Do not resist," repeated the 501-Z with alacrity.

Jerron Kyne hurriedly pressed himself up from the ground and rose to a standing position. Immediately, the Droid pushed him away from the bed with a cold, heavy palm.

"Move."

The Padawan limped forward as his eyes adjusted to a dark, dingy room. The dirt floor was filthy, strewn with puddles of expended oil, scraps of metal and hard igneous pebbles. It was a small containment space with rudimentary iron bars fitted halfway across the room that separated the gurney within the holding cell and a large workbench beyond. Dismantled droids hung from chains embedded in the ceiling and lumped into a hideous pile in the far corner. Jerron Kyne edged further, wincing with every step. Behind him, the 501-Z marched at pace, every step sending a small shudder through the ground. The prisoner reached the threshold of the room and a sliding door buzzed open. He was pushed through into a long corridor with walls made of dark compacted soil. Directly ahead was an identical sliding door, fortified with similar crude bars to the holding cell behind him and Jerron noted many more down the length of the dimly lit hallway to his left. He peered into the darkness but could see no end to the dismal passage. A hard knot wound within his dry throat. It was a prison.

The droid stomped out of the room and stood directly in his line of sight, blocking the view.

"Move," it ordered once more.

The Padawan bowed his head in compliance and hobbled to the right. A staircase of carved beige rock lay before him which ascended upward into the unknown. It was barely illuminated by few flickering bulbs set into the stone. One step at a time, Jerron climbed as the heavy strides of the droid followed swiftly behind. They clambered up into brighter levels in silence, but for the laboured breathing of the boy and the hefty footfalls of his captor. After some time scaling curved stairs, lumbering between pathways ringed by crafted archways and a multitude of sliding security hatches, the pair reached a set of blast doors much unlike the dreary decor of the jail complex below. As the gate opened with a pressurised hiss, Jerron was blinded momentarily with a wash of bright natural light. Stepping out into the upper level, the Padawan was met with a magnificent sight. He stood in a small entrance to a grand palace, magnanimous and grandiose. Jerron's gaze was immediately drawn upward, from lavish woven rugs and opulent furniture nearby to a high sparkling glimmer above. The ceilings were decorated with small patterned indents and rounded, tessellated buttresses that rose to spiralled peaks. Enormous crystalline chandeliers hung from their tips which were suspended in a slow revolution of luxury. Hewn of smooth polished marble, the indoor walls of the palace bore natural tones of maroon and purple hues. They were tall and perfectly sculpted and held occasional luminous bulbs alongside enormous matching glazed windows which provided views of the outdoor environment. Palisades lay beyond; great designs of architecture with enormous banners hanging from extended poles that swung softly in the breeze outside. The sky above was a shade of soft blue with tinged green undertones which clung to the puffy white clouds hanging over the estate. A sprawling series of fields lay below in the near view, surrounded by a dense abundant forest, and wild, rocky mountains, that stretched far into the glorious horizon. Jerron Kyne was speechless. In all his life he'd never witnessed a sight quite like this and now, in awe of such extravagance, he knew he'd lingered too long.

Suddenly, another burst of electricity painfully shocked the Padawan's nerves. He gasped and doubled over, but managed to steady himself on his feet. Steeling his eyes away from the incredible world afar the apertures, the boy regained his posture with a stubborn grunt and resumed his slow trudge forward. With every step, the uncomfortable collar chafed against his bleeding skin. He grimaced.

501-Z3L remained silent, confident that the regular enaction of corporal punishment would keep the prisoner in line. It instantly resumed a marching pace close to the shambling walk of the acquisition.

The vast estate soon widened out into a large lavish atrium surrounded by soaring staircases, one of which Jerron was pushed toward. Once more he climbed the steps, followed keenly by the droid. As they neared the zenith of the stairs, a muddled chorus of voices echoed through the expansive halls of the palace. Laughter and gleeful shrieks followed by the sound of clinking glassware and further open conversation. With the last painful reminder of his subservience wearing off, Jerron dared to ask a question of his captor.

"Where are we?" he spoke aloud, his voice hollow and soft.

"Be quiet," came the mechanical reply.

To his surprise, no immediate shock was issued by the droid. Instead, the 501-Z unit grabbed hold of Jerron's shoulder with a tight, pressurized grip. It pressed its hand firm against his flesh, pushing malevolently against the neckband around his throat.

"You are required to refrain from communication," it continued, balefully.

The droid marched Jerron down a short hallway adorned with fanciful regalia toward a large set of beautiful double doors with spiral metal handles and patterned fillagree. Standing to the side of the doorway was a scantily clad female Kiffar, a near-Human species from the Inner Rim. Her mature tattooed face was bowed and her withered hands crossed over her exposed midriff. She bore the same bulky metal collar around her neck as Jerron did, and even from a distance, he could spot a lifetime of ugly scars mottled around her jugular. With the approach of the droid, she muffled a fearful gasp and immediately opened the doors, bowing low in absolute submission to the approaching machine. Her eyes caught Jerron's as they passed, but she hurriedly looked away. The 501-Z guided the Padawan through the threshold and closer toward the continuous ambient sounds of chatter and mirth. It clamped its outstretched hand tighter around the boy's shoulder, causing him to groan.

Entering into the open indoor hydroponic garden known as the Arboretum, the droid led its quarry to the nearby locater beacon of its master. Between large decorative planter beds bearing all manner of lush alien flora, it solemnly marched ahead with the young acquisition kept assuredly in its custody. Jerron's eyes darted back and forth about the room as they walked. They were surrounded by more transparisteel windows that revealed breathtaking views, though he didn't venture to properly look for fear of the ever-watchful droid. The expansive space appeared to house an extensive collection of beautiful organic life, from small blossoming flowers amid a sweetly scented carpet of moss to tall sweeping trees that touched the high ceiling with colourful fronds. Draping thorny vines were wrapped between their trunks, which stemmed up from the soil bed below, surrounded by bulbous brightly coloured patches of fungi nestled beside small ponds and slow-flowing water features. Discreet pipes full of aqueous matter were connected to the garden patches at their base and a cool, gentle mist hung in the air, coalescing into a moist fog over the pods. Jerron glanced upward, an abrupt flurry of movement catching his eye. A small flock of Convorees flitted overhead, gliding from branch to treetop in the curated canopy above. Their golden-brown plumage shimmered in the mist as they flew. This was a tranquil place, beautiful and serene.

A sudden burst of loud laughter issued from the far side of the garden. Jerron quickly looked down, his focus drawn back into the moment. There, lounging on an extravagant reclined chair, in a divided antechamber near the wall, sat a regal, beautiful Human woman. She wore a long flowing series of robes that wrapped about her body in a vibrant display of luxury, her headdress and accompanying jewellery sparkling in the ambient light. Several identical lounges were strewn around hers and a myriad of similarly garbed humanoid individuals lay upon them. A small circular table laden with sumptuous exotic fruits, bottles of rare liquor and elaborate baked goods sat nearest the windows on this side and stood by it, another collared figure. As those upon the couches loudly spoke, giggling and gesticulating freely, the tall, blue-skinned Twi-Lek male wearing a neckband raised a platter of ornate goblets and approached the central woman. She lazily took a glass before waving him away without a sound. As their revelry continued, the 501-Z unit neared the end of the garden path and announced its presence to the group in conjunction with their approach.

"Madam, Acquisition 137, as requested."

The Droid released his grip upon the Padawan, who slumped to the floor on his knees, his legs giving way to the dull ache through his body. He slowly rose to face the woman in the middle of the lounge. A hushed silence fell over the company in the garden as they directed their attention to this new diversion.

The grand woman's eyes lit up and she reassumed her posture in the chair, sitting tall and imperiously. All eyes fell upon her and the boy as an unspoken silence settled in the room. In an instant, the Twi-Lek swiftly lay down the platter of drinks and cleared his throat before speaking aloud in deep, dulcet tones. His words were austere and yet seemed not his own, as though his speech was rehearsed and had been performed many times before. A thick Rylothian accent clung to his enunciation as he spoke and he gestured gracefully toward the central figure in the room, bowing low in obedient servility.

"It is my life's great honour to introduce Baroness Lenāla of Dandoran, Madam of Annex Hold and Curator of the Collection. May you find favour in her eyes, for she is both generous and benevolent."

As the final words of the slave resounded throughout the garden and its attached antechamber, the beings surrounding the Baroness clapped politely, smiling and nodding toward their host. The woman held up a poised hand and tilted her head back, peering down at the child with a measured glare.

"Ah, our latest acquisition," she spoke. "Welcome to Annex Hold." Her voice was smooth and accented with noble tones, like that of a privileged Republic Senator from the Core Worlds.

Jerron said nothing.

"Who are you?" continued the Baroness, her words cold. "What is your name, boy?"

Again, Jerron remained silent. He turned his head from the woman and instead stared at the floor. Several of the humanoid beings let out disapproving tuts, gasping dramatically and speaking together in quiet whispers.

Baroness Lenāla sighed. "Zel," she said, motioning with her hand toward the impudent slave upon her floor.

501-Z3L engaged its punishment protocols, electing to issue another brutal bolt of electricity to the shock collar around Jerron's throat. The Padawan yelped as his body was briefly encased in a blistering cloak of lightning. It scorched his flesh, leaving a horrible burn where the metal collar dug into his neck. He stumbled forward and nearly toppled over, barely managing to right his stance.

Jerron Kyne raised his head and glared at the woman. Her face was blank, revealing nothing of her intentions or emotive state. They stared at one another for some time, intractably. Finally, she spoke again.

"Very well. You may choose to remain silent. But there are grave consequences for disobedience." Her words were sharp, their pace quickened.

The Padawan did not react.

"Skoan!" she barked. The Twi-Lek hurriedly rushed to her side, bowing his head low.

"Yes, Madam."

"Quanya".

The slave returned to the table and poured a flute of bubbly rose-coloured liquid into a crystalline chalice. He briskly strode back to the Baroness and placed it in her hand. She took a long sip, her eyes trained on Jerron's defiant stare. As he watched, she deliberately loosed her grip upon the goblet and let it fall from her grasp. It shattered instantly, spilling onto the cold marble floor and fragmenting into pieces. A gasp of fright issued from Skoan who immediately dropped to his hands and knees, picking up the shards of glass with his bare hands and wiping the spilled liquor with a towel hung from his robes. He was shaking, a bead of frightened sweat rolling down his aged face. Jerron looked on confused, but unmoved.

A strange grin crept over the decorated face of Baroness Lenāla.

"What is your name?" she repeated, slowly. Each syllable seemed to drawl with pleasure. In an instant, she lifted the heel of her right boot and suddenly drove it down against the hand of the Twi-Lek slave at her feet, crushing his fingers against the solid ground and the sharp pieces of smashed crystalline. Skoan cried out in pain, before biting his tongue to keep from making any unwarranted noise. He writhed painfully in place as he continued to clean the mess with his free hand, making hushed pathetic whimpers.

"You're getting blood on my floor," the Baroness mused, grinning with malicious enjoyment. She twisted her heel into the slave's flesh and ground it harder into the marble. The Twi-Lek groaned and cried, pressing his head into the crook of his elbow to keep from screaming, as both lekku twitched in agony.

"Stop it!" Jerron Kyne shrieked in horror, his voice trembling slightly. Never before had he witnessed such needless cruelty.

A wicked smile etched itself fully upon the face of the Baroness.

"Or what, boy?" she leered. Her eyes shone with a horrible joy, a revelling in dominion over the boy's fear.

Jerron felt a hot rise of righteous anger pang within his chest and his heart began to pound. The aching in his body grew less noticeable and his emotions grew more intense.

"Answer me!" continued the noble matron, angrily. She dug deeper, viciously twisting the solid platform of her fine boot into the bloodied blue flesh of the Twi-Lek that lay sobbing at her feet.

"I..." Jerron stuttered.

The slave yelped and gasped, a puddle of slick gore forming amidst the smashed glass. He whirled his head to face Jerron with an expression of desperate pain carved into his handsome features.

"Please..." Skoan whined, his voice strained and cracking.

"Jerron Kyne." the Padawan quickly blurted his response. "My name is Jerron Kyne".

The Baroness ceased grinding into the slave's hand, but she continued to hold the pressure.

"Jerron Kyne..." she mused. "How quaint." Her voice shivered with amusement and intrigue. "And are you a Jedi?"

The boy lowered his gaze from the weeping Twi-Lek and bit into his inner lip until it stung.

"Not yet."

Skoan grunted loudly as his mistress finally removed her heel. She tutted as the old servant gingerly lifted his hand from the cold marble floor, taking with it's weight a smattering of deeply embedded crystal pieces that pierced his flesh.

"Clean it up!" Baroness Lenāla barked, casually tossing a soiled cloth napkin toward the slave. It missed his position and landed sullenly in the small puddle of crimson at the base of her lounge. The Twi-Lek winced with obvious agony as he picked it up between shredded fingers.

"Yes, Madam" he uttered in pitiful breaths.

The Baroness of Annex Hold chuckled, kicking her leg over top the other and lounging back against the tall lavish headboard of her chair. She directed her attention back to Jerron Kyne.

"Not yet. What does that mean?" she sighed.

"It means I'm not a Jedi Knight. I'm only a Padawan." Jerron's reply was matter of fact, almost impertinent in delivery.

"And what is a Padawan?" came the follow-up question, laced with fascinated eyre.

"It means I am studying to be a Jedi."

"Is that so?" the Baroness replied, hungrily. "I've never heard of such a thing."

A small moment of silence passed, marred only by quiet lapping from the cleaning servant as he carefully mopped up his own blood.

"Tell me, Jerron Kyne, are all Padawan's as ill-mannered as you are?"

The boy stared blankly at the woman, her eyes fixated upon his soft features. He frowned slightly in confusion.

"I am the Baroness of Annex Hold..." she continued "… and you will refer to me as Madam, like the rest of them."

Jerron did not reply.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mast-" Jerron caught himself a second too late. "Madam. Yes, Madam".

The Baroness leaned forward eagerly, an intrigued glint in her glare. "Master? Do you mean to say that you are already owned, little Jedi?".

"No," the Padawan shook his head. "Master is a rank of Jedi. It's what we call our teachers."

The Baroness chuckled, a broad grin carving itself into her pristine features. Her sycophants laughed aloud with exaggerated reactions.

"And the Republic claims to have outlawed slavery," she mewed, with relish.

Kyne said nothing. Baroness Lenāla leant forward and addressed the boy, an excited tonality building in her pitch as she gripped the armrests of her lounging throne.

"You've always been the property of the Jedi, haven't you?" Her words were laden with cruel intent, as though she found pleasure in the hurt they were meant to cause.

"The Jedi are servants, not slaves," replied Jerron, quietly. He stared at the floor, not wishing to part with anything more.

The dignified matriarch scoffed loudly. She lazily drew her hand over the laden fruit bowl and plucked a large red berry from the glistening pile. It burst in her mouth and she chewed its flesh slowly, her words accented with delicate moisture.

"What's the difference?" She paused for a moment, striking tension in the deliberation. A hush fell about the chamber. Suddenly the Baroness erupted into laughter as her entourage joined in, jeering and cackling with absurd frivolity. Their laughter echoed through the palatial estate and washed over Jerron like an aberrant wave, leaving him feeling sickened with disgust and shock. Closing his eyes and retreating from the present, the Padawan sought solace in the one place he could fathom.

_'Emotion, yet peace...'_


	6. Warren

Jerron's footsteps felt cumbersome and detached. He plodded through the pristine halls of Annex Hold in a daze as though dissociated from his new reality. All around him, the opulent splendour of the magnanimous palace gleamed with the glow of illuminated sconces, yet Jerron passed by the marble structures without a glance. The sound of Kyne's naked feet slapping the polished floors mingled with the gaseous spritz of Zel's thunderous steps, and Jerron barely registered any detail beyond their synchronised rhythmic strides but for Baroness Lenāla's wicked laughter, which haunted every fleeting second with a horrid ruthlessness. Close behind, the massive stomps of the warden droid seemed to echo on forever beyond the threshold of his tortured mind.

"You have already been acquainted with Zel," the tyrant had stated. "You will obey the warden droid or you will be punished."

Jerron Kyne couldn't help but recount the cruel things she'd crooned in his ear. His aching body now felt numb to the constant chafe of the shock collar that gripped at his throat, for he was overcome with debility and disbelief, and unable to register the pain which the brutal metal band was designed to inflict.

"Any attempt of Jedi sorcery will be punished. Any attempt of inciting violence will be punished. Any attempt of escape from this facility will be severely punished. Do I make myself clear, little Jedi?"

The young Padawan shuddered with aversion as the inconceivable knowledge of his devastating situation sunk deeper to heart. Baroness Lenāla's words were swathed in vitriol, as were her vicious, senseless actions. With this thought, Jerron caught sight of the old Kiffar who he'd noticed before, her tattooed head bowed and her eyes still averted from their approach. This time, as the droid and its quarry shuffled past the carved double doors, she momentarily glanced up at Jerron with an accusatory gaze brandished behind fierce purple eyes. She stared into the boy, who quickly looked away as the near-humanoid silently bared her teeth.

"Skoan..." Jerron groaned, in an empathic moment of sad recognition.

He felt sick. Tears brimmed below his eyelids as the lumbering metal monster steered him toward slanted steps that led down into the bowels of the palace. Passing beyond the prolific radiance of the manor's many decorated halls, Jerron was jostled into a service hatch and shoved atop the landing of a long staircase. As they descended further out of sight, his emotions boiled over and he wept in misery, unable to disguise his sorrow any longer. Jedi Master Shonn Li was gone. And he, a Padawan without a Master, was a slave. Jerron Kyne was weak, injured and exhausted from his ordeal, but he knew it was far from over. Summoning what remnants of courage he had, the Padawan smudged away his tears with the back of a dirty hand. He stifled his heaving shoulders and allowed the constant waves of anxiety to begin their long departure from his mind.

Zel picked up the pace and nudged Jerron onward, ignoring the uncomfortable sounds which the droid's programming interpreted as highly emotional. The captive was led back to the same dingy corridor of cells in which he'd awoke; down the rounded staircase, through service passageways and to the foot of the carved earthen steps. Dampness had settled upon the slick surfaces of the chiselled walls which dripped with accumulative moisture, and a foul odour now clung to the air with sour temper.

"Where are you taking me?" the boy asked, unable to quell his probity. "Zel."

The machine responded with a sudden burst of gaseous exhaust from the intake filters around its neck, accompanied by a flurry of red code which pulsed across its sensor strip. Zel thrust the acquisition further down the slanted floor and into the corridor proper. Muttering under his breath, the Padawan finally resigned himself to stage silence around the warden. They moved onward at pace. Passing the rudimentary prison doors, Jerron noted no other signs of life but for the ambient noise of nearby security doors and far-off firing repulsorlifts amid Zel's constant stomping.

_Am I alone down here?_ he thought, his keen mind searching for answers despite compounding trauma.

The 501-Z Warden Droid had announced him to the Baroness as a numbered acquisition. Surely he was one prisoner of many.

_But for what purpose?_

Several slaves were obviously in domestic service to Lenala, like the Twi-lek butler and Kiffar handmaiden upstairs, but the Madam of Annex Hold had deliberately referred to it as a facility.

_What kind of facility?_

Jerron resolved to know, fighting the exhaustion which held his mind with inquisitive questions. As the dim yellow bulbs flickered overhead, the acquisition and the warden approached a large durasteel gate at the lowest end of the dim passage. The rhythmic strides of the droid slowed. It brushed past Jerron's depressed frame and raised a palm toward an internal access panel upon the door. A long mechanical tube comprised of overlapping and rotating components was automatically produced from Zel's wrist then inserted into an open key port on the door's control. A now-familiar hiss sounded to signal an activated airlock as a rush of stale, sultry air released from the next chamber and blew past them. Jerron crinkled his nose, his eyes watering in the rancid breeze. Zel immediately pushed the acquisition forward into the area without hesitation. The boy stumbled and swayed as his legs threatened to give out from exhaustion.

Stepping further into the darkness, Jerron's eyes adjusted to the cramped, poorly lit room that bore flat-panelled walls in a hexagonal shape and heavy industrial grating set into both the floor and ceiling. A solitary light above illuminated the space in a virulent and uncomfortable shade of noxious green. Stray ribbons of rising smoke seemed to seep up from the ground beneath them to stain the ceiling with iridescent soot. The Padawan's heart picked up its pace yet again as a nervous knot began to build in his chest cavity. He flinched as the door behind him slammed shut with a deafening thud. In an instant, a sudden blast of warm supercharged vapour flooded the enclosed space and bathed both beings in a hideous stench. Jerron Kyne retched, clamping both hands over his mouth and nose as the inhaled gas harshly irritated his throat and lungs. He coughed and spluttered into cupped fingers. A nearby security door lifted open and the sudden fog dissipated quickly through the ample gap as the Padawan was roughly forced through the opening and into another room.

Zel led Jerron into a large prefabricated vestibule. It was dark and unwelcoming with the sombre surrounding glow of a gloomy exterior environment that fed into the room through a series of high smudged windows, and barely provided enough light to discern limits within the space. A wall nearest to them was lined with identical racks of inbuilt lockers, some of which splayed open revealing a drab display of meagre contents, and others flashing with signs of error on their electronic locks. In the centre of the chamber was a raised round dais with a pile of discarded garments covered in miscellaneous organic slime. Magnetised jackets, scuffed protective trousers, soiled boots and unattached hazard tanks littered its surface in a puddle of moisture. An enormous angular airlock door lay beyond, with multiple exposed control panels nearby and large depleted gas tanks stacked in the corner near its borders.

Zel approached the table and began rifling through the heap with unaffectionate movements.

A distant murmur abruptly caught Jerron's attention and he turned toward the encroaching sound of unintelligible whispers. With his captor's back turned, Jerron peered into a long stretch of barren metal walls, grimy floors and cramped overhead piping. Quiet mutterings issued from the dark amid soft gurgles, indecipherable chitters and audible clatter. The Padawan could barely make out the soft UV light of far-away cracked glowrods as a multitude of shadows seemed to move across the room, hindering his line of sight.

The warden droid straightened up and rotated at its waist to face the new acquisition. It held in its grip a selection of protective humanoid attire, dripping with condensation from recent use. Zel's inbuilt external torch was activated, bathing the immediate area in a harsh spotlight. Jerron winced at the glare.

"Acquisition 137, receive your appointed uniform," it ordered in drab tones.

Taking the garments hurriedly, Jerron bundled the clothing into his arms and turned away from the bright beam of white light in silent compliance.

Zel resumed a marching pace and strode into the pitch-black hall before them.

As the pair moved onward, the dingy space began to slowly reveal signs of habitation. An abandoned cooking pit complete with overused pots and empty containers was strewn near a wall with several panels removed, which created a small shelter set in the recess of the room's foundations. Dangling above were a multitude of hammocks tied into the framework of the module, with accompanying rucksacks and rudimentary satchels strung up nearby or stuffed into crevices within the ceiling. A short, hunched bipedal creature wearing a patchwork shawl scuttled past the approaching droid. It paused momentarily in the broad beam from Zel's torch to squeal before resuming its expeditious dash toward the closest wall, where it burrowed into a confined opening hollowed out from durasteel sheets, which were covered by hanging tatters of cloth. The warden led Jerron deeper into the chamber, which appeared to house an ever-increasing population of indentured slaves. Some were slumped against protruding panels and making hushed conversation or sitting upon makeshift shelves set into the low walls, while some stood huddled around small contained nutrient vats that bathed wide hidden crevices with an ambient glow. Grumbling with laboured breathing, a monstrous being clad in a shock collar lumbered past, inhaling the fragmented contents of a dried crimson deathstick, and somewhere in the darkness, an anonymous slave coughed loudly with harrowing sickness. The hall ended abruptly with a series of metal grated doors, identical to those in the prior hallway. Some were sealed shut, while others remained open, revealing a grim display of further squalid living conditions endured by a present myriad of collared beings, each belonging to a race of different near-humanoid species.

Jerron's eyes were wide with shock and horror. Beyond the dilapidated grunge of the labyrinthine module, he could feel the numerous eyes of sentient lifeforms trained upon him from the surrounding shadows, and it sent tense shivers down his spine. This truly was a despicable, accursed place. Jerron's fate was worse than he could have imagined.

_How could anything live like this?_

The warden droid widened the scope of its steady spotlight and washed the near end of the chamber in its glow. Those standing nearby flinched at the blinding shine, turning their heads away or lowering their gaze. The blinking electronic components of their fitted neckbands glinted in the glare. A fleeting display of computational signals flashed over Zel's visual processor before the machine calculated a verbal order.

"Acquisition 56. Identify yourself."

A sullen voice issued from a bunk set within the topmost portion of a corner panel above a door.

"Wata," it said in a husky, high-pitched timbre.

The dilapidated curtain covering the compartment's opening was pulled back and a figure emerged from the space. It was a tall, thin and green-skinned humanoid with bumpy irregular flesh and large dark eyes. Protruding from his forehead were two long appendages ending with round suckers and his lips were pursed in a constant grimace. He was a Rodian, a species common in the Outer Rim, but this specimen exhibited an unusually lanky build and agile gait. The being swung his legs over the edge of the den and dropped to the ground near Zel's position, coming into the light behind a raised hand to stifle the beam from the droid's visor.

Zel rotated toward the sentient and addressed it once more.

"Acquisition 56, you have been assigned Acquisition 137 to mentor. You are required to increase production by 20 units. Failure to increase production by 20 units will result in punishment."

"Tagwa," replied the Rodian. "Jee keekah soh."

Jerron's Hutteese was rusty, but he knew enough to know that the Rodian's response was compliant.

The warden droid's light flashed off, leaving a dull outline seared into the Padawan's vision. Zel turned and adopted a swift march back the way it had come. Its large frame quickly disappeared from view as though swallowed up by the persistent shadows that clung to the crevices of the chamber. A surly quietude descended over the slum, accompanied by the resumption of hushed whispers and a secretive flurry of physical activity.

Jerron hugged the bundle of sodden clothes in his arms tight and glanced up toward the Rodian nearby. The green-skinned sentient edged forward slowly with a wary look on his face. He held out his hands in a universal show of caution as he approached the boy.

"My name is Labo," he grunted, the consonants of basic catching themselves in the Rodian's throat. "What is your name?"

Jerron said nothing. His throat was dry and he couldn't muster the energy to speak.

"I no harm you," Labo continued. "Let me help you".

The Padawan's body was suddenly overcome with a crushing wave of belligerent fatigue. Jerron Kyne collapsed, his legs giving way beneath the pressure of the trial he had endured. Labo dashed forward and grabbed the boy by his arm, steadying him with his own strength as the child slumped over. He stumbled forward with Jerron, leading him to a makeshift seating area set within the hollowed side panel of a jutting alcove. A disgruntled Bith with dark yellow skin and a drooling oral crevasse barked indignantly as Labo dragged the latest addition to their miserable commune into the nook.

"Easy." Labo's touch was gentle and he carefully lowered the exhausted human into a prone state. "Take easy."

The Rodian knelt beside Jerron and reached into a small satchel attached to his frayed belt. He produced a small plastoid tin containing a scant section of a nutrient block and broke the meal apart between the delicate suckers of his fingers. Labo held a chunk out for Jerron to take, using his other hand to retrieve a luminescent glowrod with minimal light from his pack and laying it on the boy's lap.

"You eat." Labo gestured an eating motion with his hands.

Jerron groaned softly, taking the morsel from Labo and stuffing it into his mouth. It was old, but still relatively edible. A muted flavour of dehydrated protein coated his mouth.

"Here..." the kind Rodian continued, rummaging in his bag for a plastoid bottle. "... you drink."

Quenching his thirst, Jerron Kyne gulped down the water hurriedly and stared at Labo. He looked weary, gaunt and ruggedly handsome for his mature age. The Rodian bore a long, scarred snout, pointed ears that flanged upward, and his skin was scaly and covered in abrasions. Around the benevolent being's neck was an identical activated shock collar, its armed signal flashing blue at measured intervals as contained sparks of live electricity fluctuated within the pressurised tube. Labo gazed down at Jerron, seemingly studying the boy in response. After a moment, the Rodian gargled a hoarse question.

"You Jedi?" he whispered, leaning close.

The hairs on the back of Jerron's neck stood on end. But despite the fearful warnings of his aching body, he managed a reply.

"I'm a Padawan," the boy said, softly. "My name is Jerron Kyne."

Labo let out a chatter of excitement as the two antennae upon his head quivered at this revalation.

"Tagwa! I knew it. Padawan, yes? Yes, yes, Jedi!" The old Rodian chuffed and raised his open hands skyward. His husky exclamation rang out among the confined quarters. At this, a number of other beings approached the seat in which Jerron was slumped. A bodacious collared Sullustan rounded a corner of the compartment and shuffled toward them. Like Labo, she had a mature face, with discoloured lower jowls and mottled patches of sun damage upon her smooth cheeks. Her eyes were reflectively dark and she wore a shabby leather cowl over the crown of her head. She was shapely and rotund, even for a Sullustan, and Jerron noted her among the first females of the species he'd seen, even on his travels within the busy marketplaces of the Core Worlds. The woman approached and held out a folded blanket between her gloved hands. She rapidly spoke something in a distorted series of harmonic tones to Labo.

"Molina has gift for you," the Rodian translated.

Jerron hesitantly took the sheet from Molina who bowed repeatedly and arranged her face into an expression that the Padawan interpreted as glad.

"Thank you," he replied, unravelling the length of fabric and wrapping it around his huddled frame.

Labo continued speaking, his hands gesticulating as he attempted to communicate with the human offworlder. The Sullustan sat down next to the Rodian and tucked her arms around his waist for comfort before leaning around to get closer to Jerron.

"You here to rescue Labo, yes?" The Rodian was positively quaking, his fingers shook with apparent elation. "Republic send Jedi for Labo."

Jerron stared up at the being with a bewildered expression. He glanced down as his eyes watered once more before resuming visual contact with Labo. The tired Padawan shook his head apologetically as quiet tears softly smudged the dirt on his face.

Labo stopped his excited movements. His antennae drooped suddenly and the Rodian curled his long fingers into his hands in rejection, lowering both arms and leaning back against the wall. Molina tutted and stroked his shoulders affectionately, chattering soft unintelligible words of comfort.

At this moment, another shackled being stepped out of the shadows and walked near Jerron's position. A tall, muscular Quarren with dark copper skin tones, several missing facial tentacles and an unsightly scar across the front of its wide, domed head. It brushed past a few of the bystanders and turned about in front of Labo, Molina and Jerron Kyne, posting up against the closest wall with its brawny arms crossed over its chest. It stared intently down at the three seated beings while keeping a watchful eye over the goings-on in the module.

Looking away from the Quarren, Jerron continued the conversation. "I'm sorry, Labo. I'm not here to rescue you," he admitted.

The Rodian wailed softly as his partner pulled him in close to her bosom. She held him near in silence. After a brief moment, Labo slowly sat up and cleared his throat.

"Labo knows. Labo not important senator anymore." His tone was forlorn and regretful. "But why Jedi here?" Labo posed, a quizzical look held on his face.

A sudden deep vocalization rang out from somewhere in the putrid darkness followed by squeals and chatters.

"Go away, Jedi."

"Uba nee cho!"

The nearby Quarren let out a grunt and pushed off the wall, stomping in the direction of the outcry. A sound of a scuffle ensued. There was a loud smack followed by a short-lived yelp of pain.

Jerron attempted to ignore the danger, staring at Labo with an expression of alarm. He shuddered at the brief sounds of brutal violence before resuming conversation with the Rodian.

"I don't know where I am. I don't know how I got here," he explained. "What is this place?"

Labo sighed. "We call it Warren. Once mercenary barracks for Annex Hold, now home for slaves." He moaned. "You fell from sky in escape pod. Labo saw, Labo helped you."

The Padawan nodded. He thanked the Rodian again with sincere gratitude. But the boy's mind was flooded with questions.

"What planet are we on, Labo? Which system?" he asked.

Labo did not respond. The being stared blankly at the ground in saddened disbelief.

The Quarren suddenly returned to its post from out of the shadows, dabbing a cloth over a small fresh wound in its cheek. It stood above their position and gruffly responded to Jerron's query.

"Dandoran. In Doran, near Circumtore." The being's voice was harsh and gravelly, leading Jerron to assume the hulking sentient was masculine.

Jerron Kyne thought for a moment.

"We were headed for Nar Shaddaa..." he recalled, the memories coming to mind in a suppressed ache. "Something went wrong. The ship -"

Spitting its blood upon the ground, the Quarren interrupted Jerron with a series of wet vocalizations.

"I told you, Labo. The Jedi can't help us. He's just another acquisition."

The Rodian raised his face and glared indignantly up at the tentacled lifeform.

"Go away, Vekq," he barked.

Shaking his enormous patchy skull, the Quarren turned and silently wandered off into the Warren without a second glance.

Labo apologised, tutting with dismay.

"Sorry, Jedi. Vekq is no hope left."

Jerron shook his head and stopped speaking. His mind was awash with desperate questions he needed answered. He took a moment and then began to speak, stumbling over his words and stuttering the beginnings of each sentence.

"Bu - but why are we acquisitions? Wha - what are 20 units? What, what i - is production?" he exclaimed, frantically searching for answers. Jerron was panicking.

Molina let out a soothing hush as Labo intervened.

"Calm, Jedi," the Rodian assured Jerron. "Acquisitions are us. Baroness collect beings from all over galaxy, many beings. Rodian, Sullustan, Human..." Labo explained. "Units are for work. We pick Varsa Vine, yes? Harvest for spores, make spice. Spice bought by Hutts, yes. Many spice."

Labo's words filled Jerron's mind with a solemn finality. A spice mine. He was in a spice mine. It was a fate worse than death. Before he could formulate a response, his body began to shut down. Jerron's heart was pounding. His breath caught in his chest and couldn't get out. He was panting, hyperventilating with ever-increasing stress. Master Li, The Resilience, the shock collar, Baroness Lenāla, Labo, the Warren, it was all so furiously incomprehensible. The Padawan spluttered and coughed, his eyes rolled back in his head and the world around Jerron Kyne fell dark as he tumbled senseless to the floor of the dingy Warren with a sickening thud.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read the beginning of the Will of the Force, Book 1. This is a copyright OC fanfiction work exploring original characters and is in no way related to Disney Star Wars. 
> 
> The author of this work is currently on hiatus to resume a separate project. Will of the Force, Book 1 will continue to be uploaded in approximately 6 months and completed mid 2022. Chapters 7-? have been drafted and the first book of the possible trilogy has been entirely planned out in sections. 
> 
> Please leave a kudos and a comment if you enjoyed the work; any/all feedback is welcome.
> 
> May the Force be with you always.
> 
> The_Force_Guard,  
> Natt Lókja.


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